


I Won't Let You Die for Me Again

by aurorajackson



Category: Constantine (TV), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual John Constantine, Brooklyn, Canon Compliant, Easter Eggs, Episode: s01e11 A Whole World Out There, F/M, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, John Constantine Kissing Dudes, John Constantine being daft, M/M, My First Fanfic, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Self-Pity, Slow Burn, sword of night, synchronicity highway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorajackson/pseuds/aurorajackson
Summary: After the ordeal with Faust, Chas returns to the mill house in a strange mood.He's... contemplative.It's creeping John out.Post ep11"A Whole World Out There"
Relationships: Chas Chandler & John Constantine, Chas Chandler/John Constantine, Chas Chandler/Renee Chandler
Comments: 32
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

John Constantine was on his fifth day alone in the mill house, throwing a pity party like only he could. The English exorcist, surrounded by magical artifacts full of wonder—and probably evil—in a house full of mystery, sat on the old leather couch, barely clothed, barely fed, and very drunk.

He supposed the events of the past day—travelling to a contained, alternate plane of existence to stop a dead, deranged occultist from happily slaughtering his mate’s students—had certainly been a distraction. And, John admitted, they had saved that one girl. The others three dying hardly balanced the scales, though, did it?

He was spending time with his ever-increasing list of mates he could only ever see again in the mirror above the fireplace where time was fractured. Only able to see reflections of the past, silent, distant, and unable to answer.

Seeing them there he was at least able to pretend—pretend that those who had trusted him, had been his friends, were still here. Pretend that they could sit with him and make sure he understood how he’d failed them. Each one—it was as though the more they loved him, the more painful their punishment. He'd lost count of how many bottles of whisky he'd gone through, but knew that a run to town for a refill was on the horizon.

Featured at the moment in the mirror was the reflection of Gary Lester—John’s old friend Gaz—sitting on the reflection of the couch where John was currently parked. He couldn’t figure out if he was too drunk to cry or too drunk not to. For all that Gaz had been hopeless at life, he was still a connection to John’s youth and his home.

Not much time had passed since he’d lost Gaz. John chuckled coldly to himself thinking of that term: lost – like he’d misplaced his only childhood friend from Liverpool, as opposed to using him as a sacrifice in the most painful and horrific way a person could die. Even though it had been a few weeks, John could swear there were still bruises on the hand Gaz had held as the demon consumed him from the inside and as such consumed itself. Three days John had sat there, knowing that it wouldn’t make up for it, but also knowing it would leave him with the nightmares that would remind him, keep him grounded, keep him well-punished. A master of self-flagellation, was our Mr. Constantine.

Looking up at Gaz in the mirror, strung out as the junkie he had been, John sipped from the bottle of whisky in his hand and thought about how close he’d come to losing Ritchie too. For all that the man would curse at John and swear to never help again, Ritchie obviously still held on to their relationship. The copy of Mucous Membrane’s “Venus of the Hardsell” on display in his office was proof enough of that. It certainly wasn’t for the musical value—John, Gaz and the band had only ever produced that one single, and it was bloody awful.

But if John were honest with himself, which he rarely was, Ritchie would have been better off staying in that other world—being a god of creation and not having to come back to the reality where everything was shite and the darkness was spreading like black dye in the water, threatening to change the colour of everything everywhere. Ritchie could have let his mind thrive, and left behind the world where he couldn’t go an hour without the fear and anxiety of the trauma John had wrought baring down on him. Instead, John had done what he did best, conning his friend into returning to this world, needing multiple pharmaceuticals to simply get by.

John couldn’t let Ritchie have that kind of release from the pain, because then he would have to cross off one more name on his list of companions. He had finally felt like he and Ritchie had got that connection back, and he selfishly wanted to keep it. He already had enough reasons to wallow in self-pity, and wanted to hang on to them. So John did what he did best—he conned, he fast-talked, and he manipulated those he loved. He knew just what to say to keep Ritchie here to drown in the darkness with him.

Now if he could just figure out what to say to Chas so that he too would stick around.

***

John could tell something was off as soon as Chas returned from his time in Brooklyn. He and Zed had returned on their own letting Chas get some quality time with Geraldine and Renee now that his daughter's soul was safe and sound and back in her body. The ordeal with Faust would have shaken them all, and time together as a family was the least John could give his best mate.

He had expected his tall friend to be in high spirits. If John’s last conversation (if you could call it that) with Renee had said anything, it was that she was starting to see he ex-husband in a different light—a more understanding one. It was only natural that her new-found consideration, combined with a shared crisis involving their daughter, John was pretty sure that there had to have been some reconciliation of some sort. At least some sexy times with the ex must have happened. Those charged situations filled with relief, with fear, with intimacy—and neither of them having moved on to someone else—it was gasoline just waiting for a match.

But Chas didn’t seem to be sporting any kind of afterglow or happy disposition.

Had Chas cocked it up? Not seen the new sparkle in Renee’s eye? Or had John read her wrong and she was just being polite? He was used to that kind of thing, Chas returning to the mill in a sour mood, fresh from spending hours in the cab stewing over whatever his ex-wife had yelled at him as he left.

Quite frankly, John hoped that fire had fizzled. It was no secret that he didn’t like Chas’s ex-wife. Renee and John had been openly hostile since she and Chas had married all those years ago and he’d crashed the occasion. From the moment he had met the buxom blonde Brooklynite, he had felt her claws come out, emitting possession in waves. She was trying to selfishly make her stamp on her new man, telling John to back off—Chas was her catch, not his. Little did she know how pointless that attempt was… not just because John was just as selfish when it came to what he felt was his, but because Chas was the absolute opposite. The man’s heart was as big as the six-and-a-half-foot body that housed it. If someone needed him, no matter how big or small the need, he would do his damnedest to give everything he could. He gave of himself to a fault.

Chas gave of himself so much, he didn’t have enough left for his family. At least, not enough for a woman who didn’t like to share. Not for a daughter who loved her father dearly and not yet old enough to understand self-sacrifice. One day she certainly would, and John had no doubt she would be proud.

But Chas didn’t seem to be sour, either. Instead, he seemed... distracted, contemplative, even. Like the weight of the world had knocked on the window of his cab asking for a ride. Chas didn’t do mopey introspection. To him, a spade was a spade. To be so deep in thought, it was so unlike him that it was… well, kind of creepy.

At first John just let him be. If Chas was bothered by something, he would figure it out. He always did. And if he needed John… well, he wouldn’t just come out and ask, but he’d drop a hint.

When nine o’clock rolled around and Chas hadn’t even mentioned dinner, let alone made it, John let it go. It was unusual, but nothing to worry about. Cooked himself some eggs, left his dishes in the sink, and went to bed.

He woke the next morning to the smell of something burning. That was new.

“Chas!” John was waving his hands, disrupting the haze of smoke in the kitchen that seemed to be coming from the toaster. “The bloody Hell, mate?”

Chas was standing at the stove, absently stirring something yellow and dry in a pan. John’s commotion seemed to have brought him back from wherever his mind had drifted, and he was now aware that the room was full of smoke.

“Sorry, sorry…” he quickly turned to the toaster and unplugged it. He then popped up four slices of smoking charcoal. He pulled each one out and stacked them on the plate he’d prepared and placed it on the table. The contents of the pan—what appeared to be very well done scrambled eggs—was split between two other plates with some tomato slices. Chas then placed the two servings on the table where he and John usually sat to eat.

John just looked at his friend, trying to understand what had just happened. Chas continued about the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee, and then started searching through the cupboards for something.

“Chas, mate, you alrigh’?”

“Yeah, I just need to find the sweetener for your coffee,” he replied.

“Since when do I take sweetener in my coffee?” John asked incredulously. “Since when do I drink fucking coffee?”

Finally, Chas stopped and looked around, like he had woken from a dream. He looked at John and a sense of realization came over his face like the curtain coming down at the end of a show. He brought his hand to his mouth out of shock, responding to his own actions.

“Oh my God, John,” he said apologetically, running the hand from his mouth up and through his hair while he used to other to lean on the counter for support. “I’m so sorry… This is what I make for Renee.”

“Charcoal briquettes and powdered eggs?” John asked while pointing to the table. “She has strange tastes, your Renee.”

Chas looked over the table at what he had made and closed his eyes, obviously trying to let go of his own frustration and embarrassment. He took one deep breath in through his nose, and then exhaled through the mouth. With a renewed determination, Chas moved into action to clean up.

“Here, let me take care of this,” Chas went to start picking up the plates from the table, when John stopped him. He placed a solid hand on his shoulder, causing the taller man to pause.

“You’re obviously still knackered from the drive down yesterday, yeah?” John suggested comfortingly. He gave one strong pat on the shoulder with his hand. “You go lie down, mate. I’ve got this.”

Chas nodded and walked away. Of course, John’s idea of “got this” meant opening a window to air out the smoke, throw out the food, and shove the dishes into the sink.

The next day, John was walking along the railing that looked down into the main library and caught sight of Chas. He could hear the man mumbling, and for some reason he was holding a sword. In fact, John recognized it as the Sword of Night Chas had come across recently. Chas knew it compelled one to tell the truth, so why was he playing with it?

John made his way down, curious. It wasn’t until he had got halfway down the stairs that he noticed Zed was there too. This made even less sense. Why would Chas need to be honest with Zed? Why would he go to her and not his best mate?

“So what’s all this then?” John asked playfully, hoping to hide his growing annoyance. His sudden presence seems to surprise the pair. “Can I join the party?”

The two look at each other knowingly. John could tell there was a silent conversation going on, Zed seeming to try and push something, and Chas reluctant to do whatever it was.

“Uh…” Zed began, giving them an out. “Chas was just showing me the Sword of Night.”

“I can see tha’,” John replied suspiciously. “Learn any of his deep dark secrets?”

“Not really,” she offered. “Just confirmed that you’re an ass.” She smiled, dig having been dug. The young latina walked past him toward the stairs, leaving Chas looking after her like an abandoned child.

“Thanks, luv,” John thanked her snarkily. He let her leave and then turned back to Chas, finding him putting the sword away, looking uncomfortable.

“You sleep some?” John asked, looking at his friend. Chas didn’t look any better than he had earlier, and for some reason was looking everywhere but at John. He shrugged as a response, then decided the shelves full of magical items was more important than engaging the other man in the room. John watched this for a bit, until he finally got tired of trying to guess.

“Okay, I’ve tried really hard not to notice,” and as John approached, the words seemed to make Chas tense, “but now I’m starting to worry, mate.”

He walked right up to his friend, looked up at him pleadingly, trying to get something.

“Did something happen back in Brooklyn?” Despite John not thinking it possible, Chas somehow became even tenser. “Was there some kind of feedback from the thing with Faust? I mean, your daughter’s still alright, yeah?”

The questions deflated not only the tension, but the man as well. His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed and his hands dropped to the shelf. John reached up and brought his hand to the back of Chas’s head, gently turning it so he’d face him.

“Here, let me have a look atchya…” and for a moment, Chas bent to John’s movements, letting himself be maneuvered to face his friend, and looked him in the eyes. John searched his face, for anything out of the ordinary, until he was held by the gaze upon him. The sadness in those green eyes had him trapped, like they were trying to tell John everything, but also hiding all they could. It distracted him enough that he forgot what he was looking for.

“Nothing magical, no feedback,” Chas confirmed, never flinching. He reached up and encompassed John’s hand in his own, big and strong, before bringing it down from his head and holding it between them. He looked down at their hands before slowly letting go and sighing again. “Just stuff on my mind.”

John was still held by that haunting gaze, unable to look away from Chas’s face, despite the man starting to walk away. He was at loss for words, which was impressive.

“Of course you’d think it was magic…” he heard mumbled, the disappointment hanging in the words as they echoed in John’s mind.

This wasn’t looking good. If it had been a magical problem John would’ve known what to do, and if he didn’t, he'd at least knew where to look. But non-magical, earthly problems within this plane of existence…feelings? John didn’t know how to handle that. They hadn’t talked about…feelings…for years. So again, John doesn’t pursue, and they ended the day having avoided each other.

***

“Looks like we have a case! A friend in Greenville just had someone come ‘round askin’ for me.”

“What friend do you have in Greenville, South Carolina?” Chas asked petulantly. John rolled his eyes.

“Fine. An acquaintance who runs a magic shop, Shane, just had someone come around asking for me,” John clarified.

“And what, they can’t just call? Why is it my job to do what a telephone can?” Chas was starting to sound like an uncooperative teenager, trying to get out of chores—irritated at even being asked.

“Well I don’t have a bloody phone, for one thing,” John answered, slightly annoyed at Chas’s aggression.

“Hey, what’s got you so shirty?” John asked, “I haven’t seen you try to think this hard since I watched you try to help Geraldine with her homework! I half expect smoke to start comin’ out yer ears.” John laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Chas didn’t seem to be particularly impressed with the insinuation he was stupid.

John felt he’d messed up with that one, so he brought his hand to Chas’s shoulder reassuringly, as he’d done a million times before, about to try and play it off.

“You know I’m just takin’ a piss, mate, I’m just—” half way through his attempt, though, for the first time, Chas jerks away from John’s touch, like a shock came through his hand.

“Look, I—” Chas paused, seeming to fight a decision in his head. “I have to go.” The anxiety was so obvious it was making the room feel stuffy, causing John’s blood to run hot. Chas kept brushing his hand through his hair, a move John recognized as Chas being uncomfortable in the situation.

So, John did what he usually did, which was to move past his friend’s needs and distract him with needs of his own. It’d worked before, it should work again. They’d sort all this other stuff out along the way, or when they got back.

“But we’ve got a case, yeah? How am I supposed to get to Greenville?”

“Zed can drive you,” Chas stated flatly.

“And what are you going to do, mate? Stand around staring at the walls, swinging around the sword?” John was hurt, obviously, but only knew how to be angry. “Continue avoiding me like I’m the fucking plague? Figure out more ways to be of NO BLOODY USE?”

If trying to crack wise didn’t do, and deflection wasn’t working, maybe just outright yelling would. At least it would let John blow off some of the irritation he’d felt building for the past three days. Chas stopped himself from rising to the bait, took a breath, and looked John straight in the eye.

“I can’t be around you right now. I have shit I need to sort out, and you are the last person I need telling me what to do or what I feel.”

“Since when am I telling you how to bloody feel? I hate talking about me own feelings, letting alone yours!” John’s tension remained high, building instead of the intended release, yelling because it was the only way he knew how to deal.

“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” Chas offered.

Chas turned around and climbed the stairs, walking away with purpose.

“Where are you going?” John asked after him.

“Away from you,” he replied, not looking back.

“Well, when will you be back?”

The only reply John got was the sound of keys being grabbed and the slamming of the front door.

“Chas?”

John kicked a chair across the room out of frustration. “Bollocks!”

***

Zed agreed to drive John to Greenville and join him in seeing what was going on. John was in a foul mood, making the 2-hour drive incredibly uncomfortable. Zed watched the road, and John could tell she was trying to figure him out. He just kept trying to find something decent on the radio, fitfully changing the station.

“So how come you and Renee don’t get along?” She decided to poke the bear, instead.

“Now why the bloody Hell do you need to know that?” John replied incredulously. “An’ how is it not plainly obvious to you, who knows what shit I get up to?” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, pulling the nicotine into his lungs.

“Well, then why do you insist on Chas helping you? Didn’t you tell me,” she paused here to try her hand at sounding like John “I work better on me own, luv.”

“Yeah, and I stand by tha’,” he agreed stubbornly, “But Chas an’ me are diff’rent, yeah? He’s me best mate, and if he didn’t want to join me, I wouldn’t stop him from going back to ‘is family.”

“Are you sure?” Zed’s question hung in the air of the truck. John hated how good she was at that—at seeing through his selfish bullshit. ‘Course, the fact that she was an empath and psychic probably helped.

Bloody psychics. They were very useful, but far too nosy. Not to mention they could figure out when you were lying, even to yourself.

“’Course, luv,” John replied flatly, trying to give away as little of himself as possible. “I know that man better than I know myself. I know what’d make him happiest.”

“I don’t think you know him as well as you think,” she offered, in her usual smart-ass way, like she was bragging about Chas sharing with her what he wouldn’t share with John.

They spent the remainder of the drive with only the radio for sound. Even that was vexing—trying to find a hard rock music station between all of the preaching was proving difficult even once they’d crossed into South Carolina.

***

It turned out a worried mother had come to the magic store asking after her daughter, concerned about the group she hung around with—a teenage attempt at a witch’s coven by the sounds of it. As a compromise, Shane offered to have John come and scare the girl out of it, and the mother agreed not to out the magic store to the local church councils. Last thing anyone wanted was the bible thumpers coming and picketing Shane’s little shop.

Shane was a nice bloke, having kept his good looks as he’d aged, and was able to get his hands on some rare materials on occasion. That meant John was willing to do him a favour. Anything to get more favours in the bank was a good way to play in John’s world.

Unfortunately, when he went to talk to the teenage goth girls, and apparently despite knowing absolutely nothing about what they were doing, they had opened a portal to the pits down below. It was like a convergence of coincidences all lining up and letting them do what they never could have done intentionally. The rising darkness strikes again, John figured. He left Zed in the truck, not sure what might come out, and not wanting her to over-exert herself psychically. She was still a bit shaken from the Brooklyn incident, and it didn't take much for a gate to Hell to leave a psychic impression.

Luckily for these young girls, John had found them just as they had finished the incantation. He decided it was good opportunity to teach a lesson they would have difficulty forgetting, and let the gate open. Once he saw the fear on most of their faces—one of them seemed to be ecstatically into it—he spoke some random Aramaic words and did a little light show to disguise the fact that all he had to do to stop it was step in and drag his foot, breaking the circle they had drawn in salt—thankful it was a portal and not a barrier. It was why John always drew his circles in paint when possible—harder to clean up after, but also harder to smudge and break.

Other than now possibly having several teenage groupies, John was able to walk away from this one successfully. Most of them seemed to have been scared off the magic—including the girl who was the reason they were there. John got his marker from Shane for the favour owed and gave him a heads up about the enthusiastic one, suggested he keep an eye on her.

“You know, mate, make sure she doesn’t accidentally open another gate to Hell,” John advised, giving a wink to the older gentleman.

“Oh, ah think ah know the one you’re talkin’ ‘bout, John,” Shane replied with his Southern Carolina drawl. “She moved up here with her Papa from Savannah—he was trying to get her away from the scene down there.”

With that, they gave each other a peck on the cheek to say goodbye and parted ways. John saw the smile on Zed’s face as they left the little shop, and wasn’t looking forward to the conversation he knew was coming.

“So what was that all about?” Zed asked, a look on her face like a cat that ate the canary.

“Wha’ was what?” John replied, playing it cool. “Shane’s a good bloke, and it’s always good to have a favour in the bank—especially with people who are good at finding rare artifacts.” He winked at that.

“That! That right there!” Zed pointed at John, calling him out while trying to keep her eyes on the road. “You winked at him in the store, too!”

“And?” John had a look on his face that said ‘yeah, what of it?’

“Do you like him?” Zed looked like she was about to burst. It was really irritating. John’s sex life, though peppered with many a good story, was not something to fawn over like a puppy. He hated it when people had said it was so “cute” when he was out with a bloke. He’d had too many occasions when the people around him found it anything but cute.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Zed,” John intoned, making sure she understood that he wasn’t playing this game. “Yes, I’ve slept with birds, I’ve slept with blokes. In fact, Shane was one of those blokes at one time. I’m not one to judge, and I had thought you weren’t either.”

“I’m not! I think it’s—”

“If you say cute I’m bloody well going to cook dinner tonight and force you to eat it.”

Silence filled the cab of the truck. His point was made, the threat strong enough to let the subject drop. John opened the window beside him and lit up.

“I’m sorry, John,” Zed offered after a while. “I was just happy, excited to learn something else about you. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Well then, let’s even the field,” John replied. Zed’s face dropped as it always did when he tried to learn more about her. “You ever had sex with another woman?”

“Honestly, no,” she answered. John was a bit surprised at her candid reply, but figured she was more inclined to answer since it gave away nothing of her past or where she came from. “I’ve never felt attracted to women like that.”

“And that’s fair,” John squeaked out before he exhaled a stream of smoke. “But if you ever find yourself in that situation, take my advice, and don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” He finally smiles, and she nods in return.

He could tell her about Gaz and their history, but didn’t feel like opening that wound with her, especially when it still felt so raw and open for him. He did, however, decide to have another bottle in front of the mirror once they got back, and hopefully see the old son reflected back.

***

Chas didn’t return the next day.

John seemed to be able to occupy himself well enough to pretend it didn’t bother him, though Zed seemed somewhat amused at his poor ability to feign disinterest whenever she mentioned him in casual conversation.

On the third day, John was starting to scratch at his right palm out of frustration, and was going through his cigarettes faster than usual. He didn’t like this uncertainty. He liked knowing where all his ducks were, even if they weren’t in a row. The thing about being selfish, you tend to be a bit of a control freak. It was to the point where he was pretty sure even the house could feel how antsy he was.

To replenish his ciggies and booze, and so Zed could replenish her art supplies, the two of them decided to head into town. They also figured they’d grab a drink while there—well, John did, and Zed went with him to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble…or jail.

Well, this was a surprise!

As soon as John and Zed had entered the bar, they found Anton, the soul broker from Chicago. John smiled, remember the last time they had seen this tosser, they were getting him to eat a contract for someone’s soul, thereby nullifying it. He chuckled at the memory of Chas holding his bowie knife to this bloke’s throat, telling him to chew, and how Anton had actually debated which fate was worse.

“What did you do to me?” He asked in hushed tones once the pair were seated beside him at the bar.

“Don’t know what you mean, mate,” John replied, cock-sure as always.

“Look, I did what you asked and ate the deal for that Fell chick, even though you fucked everything up for me. But now,” he paused as he looked around, paranoid that someone was listening, “every time I hear something new, my first thought is: I have to tell Constantine.”

“Oh, boss! It worked then!” John said, shit-eating grin on his face. Zed elbowed him in the side and looked straight at him.

“What did you do?” she asked, incredulously. He was often amazed at the dichotomy of Zed. For all that she was looking out for number one, could pickpocket almost as well as he could, and used her beauty and wiles to get information, she didn’t seem so fond of outright manipulation of others. If she wanted to survive in in the underbelly known as the magical world, she’d have to get over that someday.

John sighed, hoping she’d get used to it soon.

“I might have added something to the parchment before we made him eat it. Like I always say, better to have an inside man.” He winked at Zed before taking a sip of his beer. “Just a simple curse, luv. Makes him want to share, that’s all. Compels the truth.”

“That’s all?” Anton was starting to shake, understanding what had been going on, and the implications it meant. “I run in circles with... individuals... that are not big fans of yours! If they knew I was telling you anything I’d be dead!”

“Oh come now, ya divvy,” John said casually, “you and I both know there are worse things than dying. Anyhow, it must be something big you gotta bring me, coming all the way here for.” He turns to Zed and explains “You see, the juicier the news, the more he has to tell me. Becomes almost a compulsion.”

“Almost?” Anton’s eyes were wide. “ALMOST? I can’t get you out of my fucking head! I just hear you asking me to tell you, over and over and over again!”

“Well tell me then!” John found himself quite amused by his power over this wanker.

The soul broker started tapping the table, as though he was going through a list of things.

“Abnegazar and the Demons Three are opening a new casino in Vegas,” he offered. A bit trivial and safe, to be honest.

“They were doing well in Reno, so Vegas is the next obvious move. That’s nothing to be turvy about,” John stated, obviously unimpressed. “Next.”

“Felix Faust is—”

“Dead.” John cut him off before even hearing the rest.

“Really?” Anton actually seemed a bit surprised by the news.

“Was there meself, mate. Watched him get blown up by a grenade.” John blew up his hands like a child would, sound effects and all, illustrating his point. Honestly, seeing the old magus and his best mate blown to bits was a visual he could live without. “I don’t hear anything yet that would bring you all the way to Atlanta from Chicago.”

“There’s this preacher in Kentucky they say has an angel locked up in his basement, and he’s forcing it to use its power for him. He’s like, healing people or something.” Zed actually snickered at how that story got messed up.

“Are you messin’?” John is obviously starting to lose patience. “Not only is that not what happened, but I have said fallen angel’s heart in a jar back at mine.”

Anton seemed to be running out of things. There was obviously something he was hiding, since none of what he’d shared so far had been news to John. Hell, most of it wasn’t even news to Zed. Not only that, but Anton was still as twitchy as and when they had first arrived.

“One last chance, boy-o,” John said, drinking down his beer.

“There’s a big buzz about you downstairs, Constantine. They say there’s a new chink in your armour. A really big one.”

John paused, mid gulp from his pint. Now this…this got his attention. He tried not to let is show, but Zed picked up on it right away.

“There are some big players paying large to find out what it is. Nergal, Fercifer… there’s word that even one of the princes of Hell has been sniffing around.”

In that moment, all the tension left Anton’s face and he seemed to relax. Like watching someone who was dying of thirst finish their first glass of water, or a junkie in withdrawal getting a fix.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Maybe next time, you don’t wait so long to get in touch, won’t be so painful. You’ll pick up the tab, yeah?”

Before the soul broker could even acknowledge, still blissed out from the relief, John was standing up, indicating with his head to Zed that it was time to go.

***

John had always been careful about his vulnerabilities. He was far too adept at knowing how to manipulate them in others to not know how to keep his own close and guarded. When he first started studying magic as a lad, he had even gone so far as performing a spell to lock them away in a box. Didn’t turn out to be the best thing, but when did things ever when John was young.

He self-deprecatingly figured that was the up side to his dwindling list of friends – fewer people to check on. The fewer the mates you had, the fewer you had to worry about getting caught in the crossfire. It was to the point now that the list was pretty damn short. And sadly – mostly due to them dying. He was going to do his damnedest to try and prevent as many more as he could.

The first thing John did once he and Zed had returned to the mill house was to call up Rick the Vic back in London and have him do a check on his sister, Cheryl, and niece, Gemma—the brother-in-law he couldn’t give a toss over. Rick, Header, and Brendan they were able to take care of themselves. Just in case, he gave them a quick shout, checking to see if anything had changed.

He’d been with Ritchie recently, so he wasn’t worried there. He’d have Chas call Anne-Marie down in Mexico, let her know to keep an eye out. But if she was the weak link, they would have played that advantage while he was there, not now that he was back and they had somewhat patched things up. Plus, she was in service to the Big Man, now, making her not such an easy target.

He didn’t have to check on Gary.

Or did he? Maybe now that Gaz was gone, someone wanted to make a play for his soul? With the way he left things between them, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to try and recruit Gary’s soul against him.

John then threw that option out the window. For all of Gaz’s faults, he sacrificed his life for the greater good, and gave it willingly. That meant Hell had no hold on him, so he should be safe.

John figured there must have been another change somewhere. The way Anton had spoken, it was as though it was breaking news in the underworld—that there had been a shift of some kind. The problem is, if John didn’t know what it was, how could they be so ready to think they could use it against him?

He’d pissed off far too many big players to be able to figure out which one it could be right off the bat.

He needed help figuring this out. At least a hint to point him in the right direction. The one who knew him best, who kept tabs on him, was Chas. As simple a man as he was, that was part of the charm. Chas didn’t look into the nooks and crannies for hidden meaning in things, and with these particular cases, the answer was usually hidden out in open and not in one of the cracks.

John also figured that with all that happened with Geraldine’s soul getting stolen by Felix Faust, perhaps there was something there he missed—a side effect that could cause problems. There was just one problem trying to figure this one out.

Chas wasn’t answering his phone.

Although that alone wouldn’t normally worry John, the fact that he hadn’t answered in three days was a bit annoying. Chas had turned him down before, but only after answering the phone and hearing the problem. This open and obvious ignoring of John was really getting to the brit.

He even borrowed Zed’s phone and tried texting, pretending it was from her. Chas had obviously been talking to her about his problem before having his cob on, so maybe he would be more receptive to something from her? The only response he received was “i know its john fuck off”

Well, this was going nowhere. If this thing Chas had to figure out was about Renee or Geraldine, then he would’ve headed back to Brooklyn, right? It’s not like Chas would opt to stay in a hotel if he didn’t have to, and if he wasn’t here, then there weren’t many other places John could think to look.

The next day, John asked Zed to drive him to the airport. She was skeptical, asking why he was going alone and where he was going and couldn’t she go with him and what was so important that he was leaving her by herself in the mill house? Oh bloody Hell! Why couldn’t she just take him and leave it at that?

***

John hesitated before knocking on the door. He wasn't sure if he was dreading Chas answering more, or Renee.

He could hear the footsteps and they were too light—too dainty.

Renee then.

She opened the door and as soon as she saw who it was, she just crossed her arms, ready and defiant. John raised his hand in a curt wave before placing his hands back in the pockets of his coat.

“Did you finally come to gloat?” she started, her voice thick with a fight waiting to happen, and a sadness in her eyes that surprised him.

Not understanding what she was referring to, he just squared his shoulders, ready for whatever she was going to bring.

“Not sure what there is to gloat about, luv,” he replied with his casual smirk. “Is Chas about?”

Her face dropped like he'd just called her a cow.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” her voice becoming clipped and angry. “Because I know you're an asshole, John Constantine, but you never struck me as cruel.”

“Well can you tell him—” he tried, but she was closing the door. He heard the click of the lock.

Well now, that was strange. That was not what he had been expecting. Telling him off, yeah, that made sense. But he had expected her to...

Maybe he didn't know what he had expected, but what had just transpired left him at a loss. Did that mean Chas wasn't here? But if he wasn’t here, where the bloody hell was he? It’s not he had any family to stay with.

And why was he avoiding John?

“Bollocks.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's done all he can to figure out two things:  
> 1\. Why Chas is avoiding him?  
> 2\. What has come to the attention of his enemies down below?
> 
> The answers might be more related than he'd hoped.

John walked away from the house in Brooklyn trying to figure out his next move. Chas was the only possible “chink in his armour” that was left to check, and for some reason he was making it particularly difficult. John sniffed around the area to make sure there was nothing near the family home—maybe adding a ward or two for good measure.

Maybe it wasn’t Chas. Maybe someone was having it on with the demons clawing to get back at him for all the shite he’d pulled over the years.

But since when was John Constantine an optimist? Something still didn’t feel right. It was like when you open the fridge and know something has gone bad… you’re just scared to find out what it is. His magical senses were saying that something was off.

For instance, why wasn’t Chas answering John’s calls this time? It was the first time his best friend was openly ignoring him, leaving him to twist in the wind. It was driving John a bit barmy. Chas not being with his family in Brooklyn meant he was not just avoiding John, he was actively hiding from him.

What was so bad that it would leave the lumbering teddy bear in such a tizz that he needed to hide? Every other time there had been a problem, Chas had come to John, talked to him, asked him for answers or help. Hell, sometimes it was just to come with him for a pint, talk it out, let the man say it out loud without any kind of judgement or repercussion.

Chas loved being around people—he was a natural caretaker. It was probably a result of being forced into tending to his horrible mother’s every need, left with no thanks but verbal abuse and no privacy or life outside the house. Despite that Hell he came from, Chas had become such a loving and caring man. You could see it in the way he would comfort others, somehow making his overbearing body seem approachable. It was in the way he kept quiet, softening his composure, knowing that he could come across as intimidating, but only using it when needed. His love for his daughter and his wife had helped turn him into one of the most compassionate men John knew.

Knowing his best mate was struggling with something, and refusing to let him help, was getting on John’s last nerve.

***

John’s return trip to Georgia passed quickly, his mind unable to figure out what was going on with his best mate. He tried to sleep on the flight, but each time he started to drift off, another question popped into his head. With each new question, another buzz to the flight attendant for a drink.

As he approached the mill house and noticed the distinct absence of a yellow cab, he sighed again. Once through the door he took off his coat, lit a new cigarette, and made his way through the house. He stopped at the kitchen on his way to the lounge to grab another bottle of whisky and settled himself back on the leather couch to stare at the past reflected in the mirror.

This time he saw Zed and Chas in the mirror—the scene he’d walked in on a week ago when they’d been playing with the Sword of Night. The more he watched, the more it almost looked like Chas was hesitant to use it, but Zed was encouraging him. She seemed to be really sympathetic to what Chas was saying. The look on his face just kept showing more pain and sadness.

Watching Chas wrestle with himself was almost more painful to John than the schadenfreude of gazing at dead friends.

As he looked on, trying to maybe read the lips of those reflected in the mirror, the image of Chas shifted suddenly—he went rigid and a look of fear filled his face. That was when John saw himself in the mirror approaching them. This time, however, he could see Chas’s face and the panic he shook off before turning around.

Looking at the scene from this angle, John was able to confirm what he’d suspected—this problem involved John. Chas wasn’t just taking it out on him, it was _about_ him. Something that would be difficult, and involved John, that he couldn’t talk about _with_ John…

Was Chas going to leave?

That would tick a lot of the boxes. Chas and John had been together a long time, and though they spent times apart, that was always because John was leaving, not Chas. And Chas understood how many people John had lost recently. He would be loath to leave John to his own devices, knowing full well that the exorcist couldn’t look after himself. It would be so difficult for Chas to figure out how to tell John he was going. And if it was because he was going back to Brooklyn to be with his family, as much as John would understand, he would also resent it. John knew himself well enough—he was a massive prat, with the emotional maturity of a five-year-old.

John was used to being alone, though. Sometimes he even thought he needed to be alone, needed to make sure no else was caught up in the chaos that surrounded him. There was also unspoken curse (though, as far as he knew, there was no actual curse) left on those who came to care for him. The only thing that put someone in more danger than caring for John, was if John cared for them. Cheryl kept having to pay that price. It’s why he tried to keep his distance as best he could. He loved his niece Gemma—one of the only brats he could tolerate, really—but purposely stayed as far away as he could. Put them through Hell, really, letting them occasionally think he was dead. It was why he was in America for Christ’s sake! A demon had merely mentioned John’s family and he ran, trying to keep the evil that followed him away from them.

Chas was the exception. Chas always came back. Had always been there. Had always answered when he called. No matter how hard John pushed him away, or pissed him off, after a short stint, Chas welcomed him back with a slap on the back. Simple and sappy, he was.

This need John had, this compulsion to keep his best friend close was going to end badly. Despite having endowed Chas with multiple chances at life, how many more times would he have to die for John? With only a few exceptions, all his other souls were used by dying to protect John, to help John, to be with John. It was as close to a loophole as John had found, and even this spell was proving no exception to the rules that governed his world.

Maybe he needed to face the truth, do the right thing for once, and let Chas go.

***

“You went to go see Renee?” That was the only warning John got that Chas had returned. His mate’s presence filled the house from the moment he stepped in, and it intensified as he lumbered his way to find John. Needless to say, Chas did not seem pleased.

“Well hello to you too! And no. I didn’t go to see your lovely wife, I went looking for you.”

“So you flew to New York and back?” Chas threw back, insinuating the lack of logic.

“You weren’t takin’ me calls, mate,” John replied, matter-of-factly. Chas was obviously not following John’s logic, nor finding his glibness amusing.

“What on Earth made you think I was in Brooklyn?” Chas asked, still at a loss.

“Where the Hell else were you going to go?” John answered. “I mean, you had something to think about, and I figured now your daughter was safe, and what with things with Renee being all patched up, that’s where you’d be.”

“Patched up?” Chas’s eyes widened, obviously flummoxed. “What the fuck, John? Who said anything about me working it out with my _ex-_ wife?”

“Well, I figured that’s what you were all broken up about, yeah? It’s not uncommon. Tragedy with the kids, parents get back together and such. After what happened with Faust it seemed like it lit that spark again. She was all understanding and all that. I even—” John paused, having a problem with the next word “—apologized to her. Could see she was all broken up, mate, but also looked like she was starting to understand the whole situation better. I figured it was a done deal.”

John was impressed with how well he was handling this. He was being calm and rational, which contradicted the cramps in his stomach and pain in his lungs at the thought of it being true. The last thing he wanted was for his best mate to leave. No… more than that. The last thing he wanted was for Chas to leave him for _Renee_. Again. Petty is as petty does, John supposed.

“You’re not making any sense, John!” Chas seemed to be beside himself, frustration building.

“’Cuz you’re leaving, right, mate?” he replied calmly. If Chas couldn’t tell him, John would just say it for him. “I know you, and I know how torn up you can make yerself about choosing between this life and the one with your family. I know you think you need to take care of my sorry arse, but I’ll be okay.”

Chas looked like something was breaking in his head. His hands were grabbing at his hair in frustration. It was like he couldn’t make sense of what was going on, but with a sad tinge to it.

“With everything we’ve been through,” Chas started, hurt building in his voice, “all the shit I already put up with, did you really think I would leave? That’s what you got from all of this?”

“Am I wrong?” John asked, truly believing he had got it right, despite Chas’s reactions thus far.

The taller man’s frustration finally broke, leaving only a sense of defeat. His arms dropped to his sides, his head drooped and he breathed a sigh that screamed louder than his next words.

“Yes, John,” Chas replied calmly. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled fully through pursed lips. “You got it so wrong, it’s like you just scored on your own goal.”

“Oh thank fuck!” John burst out with relief, exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It was like all his tension evaporated and he slumped down the couch as though all of his bones had taken a vacation and left his body. “Wasn’t sure I could keep that up much longer, being understanding and all tha’.”

“Thanks,” Chas answered flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched tight, trying to hold on to the calm demeanor, but with the frustration obviously building again. “So glad you’re the one who’s relieved here.”

“Come over here and join us for a drink then, yeah?” John said, slapping the seat of the leather couch beside him, basically putting aside Chas’s comment. “Been wracking me brain tryin’ to figure you out this past week. That was the best I could come up with.”

The other man reluctantly acquiesced and trudged over to the couch, sitting on the edge of the seat, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. John filled the glass he hadn’t yet used and filled it half-way before passing it over. Chas accepted the glass and held it between both hands, still leaned over. He stared at it silently for a long moment.

“Well, you’re wrong, but there is something I need to talk to you about,” Chas stated before downing the entire contents of the glass. It was very… not like Chas.

John sat up, uncomfortable again, feeling like his skin was trying to loosen its way from his body. He didn’t like the tone Chas used—it was his “this is serious and I need you to pay attention” voice that reminded him Chas was a dad through and through.

“A’right, mate, yeah,” John got out, his unease obvious. “So you an’ Renee didn’, you know…you’re not back together?”

Chas shook his head, still unable to look at John, looking instead at the now-empty glass.

“I really thought she’d come around, Chas,” he said, honestly. “I’m sorry.”

Chas snickered. “No you’re not.”

John shrugged. “I am a little. I care about you, mate, and don’t like it if she hurt yuz.”

“That’s…” Chas started and stopped. “That’s not exactly what happened.”

“Go ‘head,” John offered. Chas held out the glass, giving John the hint that he needed a refill before starting up. John obliged, but only a splash this time. Again, Chas just shot it back and then placed the glass on the coffee table in front of them.

“Everything had been going well. We _were_ feeling like a family again. When I first walked through that door after Faust, she was so happy to see me. Renee had that look that she'd had when we’d first got married; when Geraldine had first been born; when I had first woken up from surviving the fire a few years ago.

“I was so happy. I thought we could be happy.” Chas smiled, and it lit up his face.

“I’d been sleeping in the guest room all week, like usual, and then one night, after having put Geraldine to bed, we stayed up, drinking wine and talking like we used to. It was so comfortable, so familiar. And that feeling just came back and next thing I knew we were kissing.”

Chas had to stop, a look of sadness taking over his features as he recalled that night.

“It felt so right. She stood up and took my hand, led me to our room, the bed we used to share. I finally thought we were getting back to that place. And things just got more heated…”

He paused again. He would open his mouth as if wanting to start again, but then losing the words.

“She stopped, and was looking at me…” he sputtered. And again, he stopped.

John didn’t mind not getting the full picture. The last thing he wanted to hear about was Chas and Renee rekindling their passion. He knew where this was going, and that this would be where Chas said his goodbyes—despite denying it earlier. He just hoped that Chas would gloss over the details. John didn’t need a play-by-play of Chas having sex with someone else, even if that person was his ex-wife. Neither of them was really one for sharing sordid details with the other.

Chas just kept starting and stopping, skipping words—like scanning through radio stations on a country road—leaving John to try and figure out what he was trying to say.

“I couldn’t understand the look in her eyes…”

It was like the words were there, but didn’t want to come out. Like he couldn’t say them.

“She just… and I just…”

Like everything would change once he did.

“I couldn’t…”

Chas ran his hands through his hair and down his face. His knee was bouncing like all the nervous energy wouldn’t let him stay still. He looked down at the ground, clasped his hands together and placed his elbows on his knees.

He took one more deep breath in, pushed it back out.

“I couldn’t get it up.”

It took a moment for John to digest that.

“Wha’?” was all John could come up with. Chas didn’t repeat himself, just gave John that unimpressed look he got that said “you heard me”.

Well, that was unexpected. John wasn’t really sure what to do with that. Part of him wanted to giggle like a school boy, another part wanted to pump his fist in triumph as though he’d just won a bet, and part of him wanted to be a good friend, he supposed, and try to comfort him. Or at least try to diffuse this conversation.

“Had too much wine then, mate?” Instead, John tried to play it off the best way he knew how—deflecting.

“John,” Chas said, knowing what he was doing.

“I mean, I didn’t even know you bothered with wine,” he continued.

“No, John... ”

“Happens to the best of us, mate. Well, not that I’ve had any complaints…” John’s penchant for running his mouth was in full form.

“John let me fini—”

“It's not such big deal, I’m sure it was just a one-time—”

“John would you shut up!” Chas yelled. John shut his mouth and dropped the smirk.

They sat in silence as Chas cradled his head in his hands.

“Sorry, mate,” John apologized sheepishly. Because since when did John shut up when asked.

After a moment of silence, trying to bring his frustration back down, Chas took a deep breath, sat back up straight and continued.

“She was fine about it. I mean, I was embarrassed and started apologizing and shit. I didn’t know what to do. But I didn’t understand. I mean, why? Why now? It had never happened before.” John was starting to wonder where Chas was going with this. He had never been one for being open and talking about _feelings_ and the like.

“She was there as I remembered her. Just, naked and—God, so beautiful, with her soft skin, and her lips were wet and sweet.”

“That's enough mate—”

“And she has such fantastic tits, just firm and familiar—”

“—really don’t need to know, yeah?” John started looking away, feeling less comfortable as Chas went on.

“And that tongue! I mean, she knew how to drive me nuts.”

“—really really don’t—”

“You do!” Chas snapped, knowing exactly how twitchy it was making John, as though he was about to make his point. “You do need to know! Because this is what was in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything! I didn’t _feel_ a damn thing! Because of you!”

Because he _was_ finally making his point.

“Whoa whoa whoa there!” John’s reaction was swift and defensive. “Me?”

“Yes!”

“Where the bloody Hell did that come from??” John had been blamed for a lot of things in his life, many of them deserved. Okay, most of them deserved—but not this. “How am I bloody responsible for your limp dick, eh?”

Chas was standing now, his frustration ballooning. He’d got to the point where the words came easily. No more stuttering, no more pausing, no more trying to find the right one. It just came like a whirlwind of language trying to get out all in one go. Chas couldn’t have stopped it coming if he had tried.

“I was there, with the mother of my child, the woman I married, the woman I loved, unable to make love to her, trying to laugh it off like it was nothing, and she said all of sudden ‘I bet John never has to deal with this’ and I was confused why she’d bring you up all of sudden. I said, ‘well, not something we really talk about’ and she laughed, and said ‘no, I mean with you’ and I thought she was joking, but then she got this sad look on her face, and I was, like ‘what are you talking about?’ because I really didn’t understand where this was coming from, and she said ‘you don't need to lie to me, I’ve known ever since I met him’ and I was like ‘Known what?’ and I mean, I know I was naked, but I suddenly really felt it, and feeling really uncomfortable and she was starting to get all mad and shit and I was so fucking confused!”

John was standing now too, trying to approach Chas like he was approaching a drowning man. The taller man was exuding all of this energy in this great big body—John hadn't seen Chas like this since the divorce, and needed him to just calm down.

“Take a breath, mate,” John tried, reaching out, hoping that Chas heard him, but instead he just continued on, swatting John’s hands away, getting louder and bringing his hands to his hips, looking like he was trying to ground himself.

“And I really didn’t understand, so I asked again, ‘known what?’ and she said, like I was an idiot and it was the most obvious fucking thing in the world—

‘THAT YOU'VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH JOHN FUCKING CONSTANTINE FOR TWENTY GODDAMN YEARS!’”

And there it was. He snapped his mouth shut so fast you could hear his teeth click. Chas stopped talking. He closed his eyes, faced the ground, gasping for air, his lungs feeling too tight, like over-filled balloons, worried they may actually burst. He sat back down, looking almost like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

John was stunned. This couldn’t be happening. It would explain Renee’s reaction to him in Brooklyn, but…

“Wha’?” John realized that was the second time he’d had the same reaction in this one conversation. But what else could he say? It’s not like he didn’t already know.

John had always known.

Chas had been in love with him since soon after they first met.

He’d used it to keep Chas around, to manipulate him into staying by his side and running headlong into the battles against demons and evil and danger. He used it to get Chas to cook for him, take care of him. He even knew it was why Renee had disliked him from the day she and Chas got married. Maybe even before.

But John also understood that Chas hadn’t realized it himself, didn’t see it—like it was hidden under his skin. It was so much a part of him, but hidden from his sight. It was probably why Chas never understood why his wife and his best friend so openly disliked each other. And if anyone had ever brought it up when they were younger, Chas would’ve pushed back. In fact, if John remembered correctly, there was one night at a pub in South London and that one guy who tried cracking a joke along those lines, about how John was his boyfriend, and said asshole promptly landed on the wrong end of Chas’s very heavy fist.

It was too complicated for Chas to really think about. John was his friend. Renee was his wife. That meant he loved John—like a mate. That meant he was _in love_ with Renee—who gave birth to his daughter. Simple Chas-style emotional arithmetic. And John was more than happy to keep it that way.

But this…this was the emotional equivalent of learning that what you thought was one plus one equals two was actually a big messy equation with letters and shit.

It’s why he’d kept trying to push Chas away, trying to keep that love Chas had for him from becoming the catalyst for his own demise. It was fact: the more one cared for John Constantine, the more they suffered. The more John indulged in those feelings, the more it was taken out on others.

It took John a second to get out of his own head and realize that Chas was talking again.

“I know, right?” Chas choked out in what could have been an attempt at a laugh. “All I could think was ‘who the hell is she to think I’m in love with John’. I mean, I’m not even gay… at least, I never thought about… and even if… I mean… I don’t… love…” and he let it hang, unable to say it.

No no no… This was not the conversation he had planned to have. He was supposed to be convincing Chas to stick around and not go back to Brooklyn, to stay for good and keep fighting the good fight. He was supposed to be trying to keep the status quo, but to do it in a way where he came out looking like the good guy. This was not that conversation.

Not by a long shot.

“I mean, she had always said that you were the reason we couldn’t make it work, but I thought that was just…” he trailed off. Whether it was because he couldn’t say, or didn’t know, it didn’t matter.

John’s default system kicked in. When deflection didn’t work, when running his mouth didn’t work, then running his feet came next.

“Right. I need a ciggy,” John said awkwardly, not even trying to hide his attempt at evasion. He patted his pockets as he stood and started toward the door, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his trousers.

“John—” Chas started, trying to keep him there, trying to keep him engaged.

“Nope, not doing this,” he replied, keeping his back turned, heading up the stairs, two at a time, to the front door.

“John!” Chas yelled after him, but he couldn’t hear him physically following.

He lit his cigarette, grabbed his coat, and walked out.

***

How he’d made it into town, John wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure which town he was in. What he was sure of was the pint of beer in front of him and the whisky chaser beside it.

“Oh, Johnny boy, Johnny boy,” he berated himself. “How did you not put two and bloody two together.” He looked down at his right hand and traced the scar that was barely visible. “All the signs were there, but you were so caught up in what you thought was happening, you didn’t bother looking to see what was going on.”

“That sounds like you’ve got a story to tell.” He looked to his left and found a lovely woman on the stool beside him, done up with that 1930’s aesthetic that was making a comeback. Her black hair was impeccably styled, the bright, ruby red lipstick accentuating her pale, flawless skin, and the labret piercing giving off a modern rebellious streak. The plethora of colourful tattoos that painted her arms and chest didn’t hurt with that either.

John smirked, having had just enough to drink to play this game.

“And what makes a lovely bird like you so interested in my story?” He asked playfully. She smiled with a wicked look in her eye.

“I guess I’m just a sucker for stories told by good-looking men with British accents,” she replied, never taking her eyes off him. She then took hold of the martini glass on the bar filled with something red that looked more like juice than booze, and slowly took a sip. There was something about the way a beautiful woman drank from a martini glass that hit John in just the right spot.

“Well then, who am I to disappoint?”

She listened intently as John regaled her with the story of his best mate who was hoping to get back with his beautiful blonde ex-wife, bring the family back together, only to realize that he’s been in love with someone else for more than half of his life. He starts to feel a bit lighter talking about it.

“Well that’s a pretty awful thing to do to someone,” Leslie—the lovely bird beside him—remarked at this point in the story.

“Do you mean him for lovin’ someone else?” He asked, honestly interested in her thoughts.

“No! You can’t help who you love,” she answered, taking another sip of her drink. They were a few more in at this point, but she seemed to be holding herself pretty well. “I’m talking about the ex-wife. Who the fuck does this woman think she is telling him who he loves and how he feels?”

She calls the bartender over and then whispers something in his ear. He looks over at John, smiles, and nods his head before walking off. John checks him out as he goes, the beer and whisky thrumming through his veins making his attention easily stolen by the tall, muscular, good-looking man with mocha skin that just exuded warmth...

He felt Leslie’s hand on his shoulder, obviously trying to get his attention back on her. No problems there either.

“I mean, for starters, how does she even know that’s how he feels? Maybe they’re just close friends?”

“Nah, she knows the deal,” John answers quickly. “But _he’s_ been bloody clueless the whole time.”

“Hmm. Does this other woman even know? Like, has it been a full on affair or something?”

“God no!” He says defensively, perhaps a little too much so. John clears his throat, trying to regain some decorum, though if the smile on Leslie’s face said anything, there was no point. “Like I said, he didn’t even know those were his feelings. I mean, he’s been moping for a week just trying to come to terms with it.”

Leslie cocked an eyebrow at that one. John’s face softened, realizing not everyone was as simple as Chas.

“He’s very… straightforward. Takes-everything-at-face-value kind of bloke, yeah?”

“Okay, I can see that,” she said, nodding with a sense of understanding. “So is tonight still part of your moping?”

John burst out laughing. Leslie seemed a bit taken aback, not realizing her mistake. He settled quickly and put a reassuring hand on her arm.

“No love, I’m not the lead in this story.” He turned to the bar and downed the rest of the whisky. “I guess you could say I’m the ‘other woman’,” he finished. A look of both understanding and intrigue lit up her face.

“You just keep making this evening better and better,” she giggled and drained her own glass, her words starting to slur a little. “So—wait. You mean she basically outed him, to himself? Wow. I say this now with far more confidence—this blonde bitch had no right saying what she said. Especially since it sounds like she had the worst of intentions doing it.”

“Didn’t think of it that way,” John replied, trying to fish out a decent reply from the soup his mind had become. He was easily four pints and four whiskies in. In fact, he realized, Leslie had a point. What had Renee been trying to accomplish, unleashing that at Chas under those circumstances? Was she trying to guilt him? Shame him? It certainly wasn’t to try and enlighten him.

“And you,” Leslie continued, “do you love him?”

John paused, a sad smile appeared as he looked down at the remnants of the scar on his hand once more.

“Yeah,” he replied honestly. “Christ, I think I’ve loved him more years than I haven’t.” John paused, thinking fondly of the day he met Chas. “Shame it’s not in the cards.” He sighed wistfully and took a swig of his beer.

“But if he loves you too—” she started, and he interrupted her right away.

“Too much at stake, luv,” he stated. “It’s… complicated like that.”

Leslie smiled sweetly and motioned the barkeep over again. As she turned back to Constantine, she switched on the sultriness he knew she’d been keeping at bay most of the night.

“Well then, it sounds like you are in need of a good distraction,” she leaned in, put her hand on his thigh. “Get your mind off of things.”

“You are one very observant, woman,” he replied teasingly, with a sly smile as his hand caressed her back.

As John was about to lean in and whisper something dirty in her ear, the hot bartender saddled back up to them, this time carrying three shot glasses filled with a clear liquid. He placed one in front of each of them and smiled. Christ, it was a smile that could blind a person it was so dazzling.

“Oliver,” she said with a wide grin, “this is John.”

“Well John, thanks for keeping my wife company this evening,” Oliver offered, the charming smile never having left his face. “I took care of your tab as thanks.”

“Bollocks,” John said under his breath, hoping he wouldn’t end up with a black eye. He took his hand from Leslie’s lower back, realizing his mistake. “Look, mate, I didn’t—”

As he started trying to make excuses, Leslie took her hand off John’s thigh to place a finger to his lips and stop him. She turned to Oliver, her own grin ever present, and asked when he’d be done his shift.

“I’m ready when you are, babe,” he answered with a glint in his eye.

“It seems my new friend John here is in desperate need of a distraction,” she suggested playfully, picking up the shot glass that had been placed in front of her.

“Hmmm… I’m sure we can find something to do that’ll take his mind off things.” Oliver then picked up his shot glass and held it in John’s direction before lasciviously raking his dark brown eyes over the brit and giving him a wink.

“That is,” Leslie delicately pushed at the shot in front of John, and held hers up to him as a gesture, “If you’re up for it?”

“Me? I’m up for anything, luv,” he picked up the shot and all three clinked glasses before drinking them down, “and in the mood for a wicked distraction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was nervous about posting this next chapter, since I'm not a guy, and don't have these guy problems. So thank you SO MUCH to my younger brother Tony for giving one particular scene a read-through and giving the thumbs up. <3  
> Thank you so much to those who've enjoyed so far! You've really encouraged me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, be careful what you wish for, right?
> 
> Now that John knows what's been bugging Chas, he deals with it in the way he knows best.
> 
> Running.

The next morning—though probably closer to afternoon—John got dropped off at the airport in Atlanta. Oliver and Leslie had been kind enough to offer him a drive, and made sure to get in one last kiss each before letting John out of the car.

Still trying to figure out what to do about his situation, John did what he did best, and let the synchronicity highway take him to where he needed to be. It was one of the only innate magical gifts he had, and he knew how to use it. The best way to describe it was luck being used to its extremes, where by letting himself let go of thought and purpose, he would let the universe guide him to where he needed to be.

He stood in front of the doors to the airport, pitched his cigarette away, and as he walked into the building he evened out his breathing, purposely let his focus go and just followed his feet. He moved on instinct, making his way past the ticket counters, bypassing the lines at security, finding ways around corners and making his way to a gate that had a plane boarding. He strolled right through, without acknowledging anyone, or anyone acknowledging him, and right onto the plane. He took a seat at random, buckled up, and closed his eyes.

Once the plane landed he once again was able to just walk down the halls and right out the door, no one stopping him or even seeming to have noticed him. He hopped on the local public transportation, still being pulled by the powers of chance and necessity.

After an hour jumping from train to train, he exited a station and lit up before walking aimlessly. His surroundings were becoming familiar, but he didn’t want to assume and break the spell too early. He’d know when he arrived.

After another 45 minutes of wandering down streets and along alleyways, the sun having set and darkness taking over the sky, he stopped. It was like waking up, realizing the dream had come to an end. He looked around and knew exactly where he was. Apparently his chin wag at the bar the previous night had made more of an impression than expected, and the universe shared his opinion.

He was back in Brooklyn.

He climbed the handful of steps to the door, rang the bell, and descended back to the sidewalk. He didn’t want to make her think he wanted to come in.

For the second time in a week, Renee answered the door, an unimpressed look on her face.

“What?” She made it quite obvious by her tone and demeanor that she had no desire to see him, nor the time to tolerate him.

“You jealous bloody cow!” he stated from the sidewalk. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, couj’ya?”

Renee just stood there, cold, trying her best not to rise to his bait.

John was suddenly incensed. All his fears and frustration from the past week and a half coming out full-tilt. Hands flailing, pulling the smoke into his lungs as though he needed it to breathe, then blowing it out with purpose. He walked up one of the steps, pointing the two fingers holding his cigarette right at her.

“D’you even understand what you’ve done? You’ve bloody well broken ‘im, haventcha!” John’s Liverpool accent coming on hard, cutting out letters like they were in the way of his anger. “He’d bin blissfully unaware o’ th’truth of it, an’ you had to go an’ point it out to ‘im!”

“What on earth are you talking about, John,” she yelled back aggressively, almost spitting his name, the contempt thick in her voice. “You’re the one who’s been stringing him along all these years. You’re the one who dragged him out of this house, away from us, and put his life in danger on a regular basis! I finally thought I had started to pull him back, back to us, back to his _family_ …”

“Oh don’t you start—” he bemoaned over top of her, waving his hand as though he was erasing her words from the air. Her implication that John wasn’t Chas’s family was insulting.

“Back. To. His. Family,” she continued pointedly, refusing to be ignored. “But no! That part of him that clings to you, that chases after you like a puppy, wouldn’t budge.”

“Oh please,” he viciously replied, “you’re just pissed off you can’t turn him on anymo—”

SMACK!

He hadn’t even noticed her come down the steps between them until her hand had made contact with his face.

Yeah… he deserved that one. But it didn’t change the point. The hatred and disgust in her eyes as she tried to stare him down was impressive, but couldn’t hide that tinge of fear hiding behind them.

He was ready. He had the nails for this coffin and he was going to make her feel the shame and the guilt she had earned with her flippant vindictiveness. He stretched his jaw, working out the sting from the slap, before sporting his most wicked smirk.

“Everyone who loves me, who cares for me, they all suffer and die. The more they feel, the worse it is. Why do you think I’ve tried so hard… so _hard_ to keep him close but not _too_ close? What I’ve had to do to keep that balance? What makes you think I would keep this from him, keep him at an arm’s length, if there weren’t a bloody good reason, you clueless… fucking… cunt?” She held the stare, but that anger was starting to flicker. She couldn’t seem to figure out where John was going with this. He almost took a sick kind of pleasure in the way he realized this was going to crash over her, like a rogue wave that would then pull her under.

Almost.

“And now that you’ve gone and broken the seal, helped Chas realize what you and I have always known?” He didn’t back down for second. “I know Chas has told you stories about what I do, and about what evil I’ve pissed off. Now that the universe knows there’s something out there that can hurt me? That can be taken from me?”

He paused as he watched the tears start to well in her eyes. That spark of fear was slowly taking over the hatred. He wanted it to sink in before he said it. Chas might’ve been a bit daft, but Renee, she was sharp. She started to understand. Her hand came up and covered her mouth.

“Yeah,” John sniffled, “nothing can save him now.” The sobs were crawling their way up his throat, unintended and unwanted. He could feel the burning in his eyes.

“That wonderful, caring, loving man,” he said quietly, knowing she could still hear him. “That man we both love—”

He had to pause to try and pull in a breath. Air had suddenly become a commodity, having left both of them. Renee’s sobs were coming freely as the fear was now fully blooming into guilt and pain. He couldn’t look at it, knowing that it would be like looking in a mirror.

“He is going to suffer, and that…” he whispered to the ground, unable to push his voice past the lump in his throat. Saying it out loud for the first time was beyond painful. Words had power, and this was one power he didn’t want to give anyone. But the blame… for once in his life, that was something he could share.

And in that moment, the anger returned. She thought she knew how to hurt someone out of anger? She was nothing. John Constantine was the master of hurting others, and he was finally going to unleash it on this woman who had tried to cut Chas out of his life. John brought his eyes back up, fury burning behind them with a force almost causing Renee to flinch. He looked straight into her soul, hoping he would mark her permanently. The hammer was raised above the last nail, ready to drive it in. He only needed three words:

“That’s on you.”

***

John wandered the streets of New York, trying to rein back in the feelings that had come bursting out of him. Once he felt they were back in the box, he knew he needed to lock it back up again.

That meant he needed a drink—or four. Fortunately, if there was one thing they had in Brooklyn, it was drinking establishments. Poncey, sure, but that just meant they were sure to have good whisky. If he remembered correctly—and unfortunately he was sober enough to do so—there was a place he and Chas used to go to nearby.

He sparked another ciggy, hoping they’d still let him smoke inside. He was not in a mood that could handle a lack of nicotine. He sucked it down, needing the buzz and needing to take the edge off. His emotions were still reeling from the encounter with Renee, and he just wanted to get pissed enough to push them to the side.

He walked in the door and headed straight for the bar. The moment he picked a stool and parked himself, a pint and a whisky were placed in front of him. He looked up and was met with a smile and a ‘long time no see, John,’ from Mickey, still the bartender. After a quick handshake and a nod, he instantly felt more comfortable. He noticed there was a bottle waiting for whomever was occupying the seat next to his. As John began to ponder who this bloke might be, he felt a familiar air pass behind him. He turned and watched as a tall, lumbering body lowered itself onto the stool, reached out a large, strong hand, and took a sip from what was apparently his beer.

“So, you wanna tell me what you’re doing here?” The deep, familiar voice asked the question easily, a touch of warmth, a touch of irritation, as though this wasn’t an incredibly kismet moment.

“I might ask you the same thing, mate,” John responded, trying his best to be nonchalant.

“You weren’t taking my calls,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh fuck off, Chas.” John swatted at the shoulder beside him, hearing the words he’d said the previous day thrown back at him.

“You didn’t come home,” Chas said, leaving the jokes aside, “So I asked Zed where you were.”

“Mate, even I didn’t know I’d be here, so how the bloody Hell could she?”

Chas pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and tossed it in front of John. He didn’t need to open it to know what was on the paper, but he did anyhow. The heavy art paper, once spread out, showed a picture looking in through the window of the current establishment, with the two of them sitting at the bar, as they were at this minute.

Bloody psychics.

“I recognized the bar right away, hopped in the cab and drove up,” Chas explained. “Said hi to Mickey, grabbed a nap, and once the sun went down I came and sat at the bar, waiting for you.”

John shook his head in disbelief and downed the whisky in one go, signalling for another.

“So again, John, what are you doing here?” Chas took another sip from his beer. He wouldn’t look at him, and John was okay with that—he couldn’t bear to look Chas in the face at the moment either. He probably didn’t know yet about the confrontation with Renee, how he was incredibly cruel and selfish. He knew he’d have to deal with it eventually, but not tonight.

“I really couldn’t tell ya, mate,” John answered honestly. “I just let the wind take me where I needed to be.”

Chas nodded, understanding right away. John had never been able to properly explain the synchronicity highway very well. Instead, he just said this and Chas took it as John’s-magic-shit travelling. He never questioned, knowing there was no point.

“Look,” John turned, facing Chas without looking at him. “Can we just, y’know, not get into the shit of it here and now?”

“John, we need to talk.” Chas was firm, but that caring tone of his was there.

“I know, I know… but me head’s chokker, mate. Tonight, can we just get bevvied up and have a laugh? Like we used to?”

The back of John’s mind was disgusted with his attempt at pleading with his friend, but for right now, for tonight, John couldn’t take anymore bullshit about feelings, or having them for that matter. To make his point, and finally looking up at Chas with his best puppy dog eyes, he made his final plea.

“We can talk all you want about this when we’re back at the mill, but right now, I just need something normal.” Chas’s eyebrow lifted in argument. John accepted the silent protest and amended his case. “Normal for us, yeah?”

“Fine,” Chas sighed, surrendering as he always did to John’s whims. “But we _will_ talk back at the mill.”

John nodded, which could have meant either that he agreed or that he didn’t give a fuck right now because he got his way.

He told Chas all about what happened with Ritchie and the psychopath. He explained as best he could all the neat things Ritchie had been able to do. That got the two of them reminiscing about the band back in London, and remembering stories about touring with Mucous Membrane. They shared stories about Gaz and drank to his memory.

John didn’t remember much after that. He had a vague recollection of being manhandled into the back of the cab, a musky scent that he recognized as Chas, and an inkling that he had tried to kiss the man at some point in a drunken gesture of appreciation. John hoped that last one was a dream.

***

John awoke, in what felt like a bed, familiar, and feeling like there was a party in his head and his stomach—a party that was out of hand and someone really should call the cops on. He opened his eyes, hesitantly, and found himself in his own bed, looking at a glass of water and bottle of painkillers on his bedside. He could not figure out how he could already be home. It was a thirteen-hour drive from Brooklyn to Atlanta (he knew this very well from Chas’s complaining about the fortnightly trip), there was no way he could have slept that long!

The sudden need for the loo let him know that it looked like someone called those cops, because the party goers were about to make a dramatic and surging exit.

Once the retching was done, he brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face and looked up. Looking back at him was a sorry excuse for a man with a purple, swollen cheek. He rubbed his eyes, hoping he wasn’t hallucinating, but no, it was still there. Being the masochist he was, he decided to poke at it and hissed with pain.

Chas would have to fill him in about that one—he didn’t remember any row at the bar.

After a shower, the pills and water, a pair of sweats and a tank top, he was ready to face the day—though maybe not quite ready for the music.

He approached the kitchen slowly, hesitantly, assuming that’s where Chas would be, but was surprised to find it empty. There was a mug with a teabag, and the electric kettle showed that the water was already heated. John flicked it on again to bring it back up to the boil, and once it clicked off again he poured his tea and looked around.

Before he could see anything, he heard something coming from upstairs, near the entrance.

“…to kick you out for the day, but I really appreciate this, Zed.” The low timbre of Chas’s voice sometimes carried through the house.

He couldn’t really make out her reply, but definitely heard her say “looked like shit”. At first John felt slightly offended by the remark, but then considered the state of his face and how drunk he must have been—she was probably being kind. He also heard his name and the word “fight”. The rest was all mumbled by the distance.

“Nah… that was me,” Chas said, sounding somewhat exasperated. “No, look…” She was probably giving him that look, letting him know she was disappointed. “He was getting… grabby…it was the only way I could get him to stop.”

John could hear Zed reply, cooing with sympathy, or reprimand… He didn’t really care. He was far too fixated on the fact that one of his recollections from the night before had _not_ been a dream.

Bollocks. That was going to make today’s feely-crap session all the more awkward. John drank his tea, now that it had cooled a bit, and walked over to the couch in the study. It was comfortable, it was familiar, and it was neutral territory. John knew they were going to have it out and didn’t want to be anywhere near the knives.

He heard Chas make his way down the stairs, sounding like he was trying really hard to come across as casual.

“Want me to make some breakfast?” he offered as he entered the kitchen. “I can do eggs and bacon?”

John’s stomach did a flip and he tasted the bile in the back of his throat.

“Don’t even joke, mate,” John responded. He could actually hear the smile on Chas’s face. “I’ve got me a tea, I’m good fer now.”

“Okay,” was all he got in return, but caught the low giggle. Chas knew how hungover John was, and was obviously just being a dick.

John tried to tune out the racket being made as Chas rattled every dish in the kitchen and turned on a leaf-blower for half an hour...

Okay, so he was exaggerating, but every noise was agony. Until the painkillers kicked in, he was getting kicked in the head from the inside. In fact, within five minutes Chas entered the library and placed a plate of lightly buttered toast on the coffee table and had a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Wa’s ’is?” John mumbled. Chas picked up a slice and shoved it in John’s direction.

“What do you think, smartass?” Chas offered. John took a hold of it and stared at it, like it was soylent green or something. “You need something in you. I can’t imagine dry heaving was much fun this morning.”

No, it hadn’t been. And Chas was just trying to care of him, like always. How could he not love this huge lug? He quickly looked over at his mate who was putting the plate on the table, and made sure the other wasn’t watching. John then let himself look fondly at the toast before taking a bite. He let himself feel cared for, left himself feel the love he’d hidden away for years. He wiped the look off his face as he took a bite, put the scowl back on, and turned toward Chas.

“Happy now, Daddy?” He was able to tinge the statement with a sarcastic and begrudging tone, the mocking nickname, but the look on Chas’s face didn’t seem to be buying it. A look of soft shock, maybe confusion, was painted there instead.

“What was that look?” Chas asked.

Bollocks. John got caught out.

“What look?” John tried to be surly, hiding that there was ever a 'look' to see.

Chas, instead, replied with a roll of his eyes and a look that said 'you really want to play this game?'

It was amazing at how good they were at saying so much without uttering a single word

“Wha’?” Yep, John was going to play the game.

“Fine,” Chas stood up, obviously irritated. “Fine, John.”

He walked upstairs, and John was willing to let him go at first, but then there was a tug in his chest and an itch on his palm, and a sudden panic that if he let Chas leave, the damage would be hard to mend.

“So, how’d my face end up like this?” John yells after him, changing the subject while still trying to keep Chas there, keep him engaged.

The sound of heavy footsteps up the stairs stopped, and there was a moment of silence, John waiting, Chas thinking.

“Would you just get back down here, you git… I can hear you thinking from ‘ere.”

The steps back down, while still lumbering in tone, were much slower than the rush to head up and out. Chas’s trepidations were obvious in his demeanor and his posture. John could tell he knew he was being baited, knew he should walk away.

“You were really drunk, John,” Chas offered, hands in his pockets.

“No shit,” John replied. “But did that mean you had t’sock me?”

Chas looked up, his eyes inquisitive.

“How much do you remember?” he inquired, gauging the breadth of the situation.

“A significant amount,” John lied, not wanting to give away his blackout.

“Bullshit,” Chas called him out flatly, no anger in his voice. “I don’t think you remember anything after the bar.”

“Oh yeah?” John’s not giving up that easily. He could be stubborn, and the more he played it off, the more Chas would be engaged, calling him out on it.

“If you did, you’d know why I hit you,” Chas continued, picking apart John’s excuse.

“I…” John was about to defend himself, but then gave up. He tossed his hand in the air in surrender and admitted it. “You’re right. I can’t remember a bloody thing.”

“You thought I was Gary and tried to kiss me,” Chas explained plainly, unable to look John in the eye.

Now, that didn’t sound right to John. If he’d tried to kiss Chas it would’ve been because he’d wanted to kiss Chas.

Of course, Chas wouldn’t know that, he supposed. As far as Chas knew, when he brought up the subject of the possibility that he was in love with John, the exorcist promptly left and ended up almost 1,400 kilometres away.

“What d’you mean, I thought you wuz Gaz?” John needed this cleared up, or they were never going to get anywhere.

“Well, once you’d passed out in the cab, which took a while, I might add,” Chas began, “you started calling out Gary’s name and saying you were sorry. You were going on and on about how you loved him, how you were sorry for not appreciating him…”

Chas trailed off, looking hurt by the memory. They had, after all, been talking about their friend in the bar, telling stories about him. John was still haunted by Gaz’s death, having been the cause. It was no wonder his drunk sleeping would lead to nightmares on the drive back.

“Then we had to pull over so you could piss,” Chas continued. “You were suddenly so adamant about walking the rest of the way.”

“If I was being such a wanker, why didn’t you let me?” John argued.

“Because we were in Virginia!” Chas yelled back, seemingly amazed that John would even ask.

“Oh,” John conceded.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Chas reinforced. “And of course, you being you and drunk, you refused to get back in the cab, forcing me to get out to try and wrangle you back in.”

“I have a vague memory of that bit,” John contributed. “I thought that was just you trying to get me into the cab in Brooklyn.”

“Well, do you remember grabbing my crotch and asking me to fuck you in the back of the cab?” Chas was not impressed, nor comfortable, and made it clear in his tone and his expression.

“Uh… no, mate.” John wasn’t coming out of this story looking good, but when did he ever? “But why’d you say I thought you were Gaz?”

“Because then you tried to kiss me when I said no.” Chas was looking less and less comfortable as the story continued. “And when that didn’t work you went for my belt offering to blow me. I mean, I’ve seen you drunk hundreds of times, but you’ve never come onto me—not once in 18 years. I know you and Gary had a thing back in the day, so you must’ve still been half asleep and trying to make it up to him somehow.”

John understood now. It’s not that Chas thought he was hitting on Gaz, it was that Chas didn’t believe John could be hitting on him.

“And that’s when you punched me,” John finished.

“How the else was I going to get you back in the cab and get us back on the road?” Chas deadpanned. “It was the only thing I came up with.”

There was a pause between them—a silence filled with expectation and hesitation. Neither one wanted to address the issue, but each of them wanting this uncomfortable stalemate to end.

John figured it was now or never.

“Ok, mate, we’re going to have to have this out,” John finally said. “We can’t keep going like this.”

“You were the one who ran out last time.”

“Excuse me? Who was the one who ran away for a fucking week?” John wasn’t about to take that one on the chin. Chas’s guilty expression showed he relented on that point. “Where the Hell did you even go?”

“Zed let me stay at her place in Atlanta,” Chas replied. “She still has a few weeks left on it.”

“That’s how you knew it wasn’t her texting you…” John realized.

“Yeah.” Chas looked down and smirked a little, then it faded and his face pinched up. “I just… I needed time to try and figure out what I was feeling.”

“And what’d you figure out?”

Chas sighed and closed his eyes.

“Look, I understand that this is… weird, and that you don’t see me like that, but—”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not looking for you to reciprocate, John,” Chas tried to explain.

“Well, you’re too bloody late for that, mate,” John snickered. No use hiding it now.

Chas was about to continue but stopped, obviously taken aback by John’s statement.

“What?”

“I’d say by about fifteen years, yeah?” John continued. Took the opportunity to spark a fresh cigarette and be dramatic about it.

“But… why didn’t you… you could’ve… I mean…” There was that smoke threatening to come out Chas’s ears again.

“Don’t blow a fuse, there.” John was doing his best at feigning nonchalance, somehow hiding that he wanted to take back that confession, swallow it, and pretend he’d never bothered. “Not like I was ever going to act on it. That’s not what we’re about, you an’ me.”

“No, of course not,” Chas replied sarcastically. His words were thick with it. “So then what are we about, John?”

“Chas,” John tried to plead as he put on his serious face, tilted his chin down, put his gaze up.

“What, John? What’s stopping us?” Chas just wasn’t understanding, and John was not looking forward to having to explain.

He paused, weighing the words he needed to say,

“I can’t cross that line with you, Chas.” He saw the look on his mate’s face, like John had just punched him in the gut.

“So, with anyone else, it’s fine,” Chas threw back at him, hurt evident.

“You know that’s not what this is about,” John wasn’t explaining himself very well. Did Chas really think that he was like any old Jack or Jane picked up at the bar? Did he really not understand how important he was in John’s life?

“No, John, I don’t,” Chas said honestly. “I really don’t get why you’ll fuck any cheap hook-up, but that I’m not worth even that.”

“Oi! I’m not talkin’ about just getting my rocks off,” John started defensively. “I have no intention of having a quick fuck hang around, am I?”

“No,” Chas replied, unimpressed, “you only expect me to pick you up from them.”

John sighed, trying to get past the jab Chas was taking.

“You really can’t tell the difference between all of them, half of whom I can’t even remember their names, and _you_?” John pleaded. “I don’t want you to be just another notch on a post. Hell, I know that you never could be—”

“Because ‘we’re not about that’,” Chas interrupted mockingly.

“No!” John shouted, finally standing up. “Listen, you idiot! It’s because I care too much about you! I can’t lose you!”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” Chas argued.

“Have you not been paying attention, mate? I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but you’re going to end up being the one who pays the price for this.” John was trying to make him understand, but once again that straightforward way of thinking of Chas’s couldn’t put two and two together.

“You’re exaggerating,” Chas tried to argue back. John sighed, realizing Chas was going to make this as difficult as it could be.

“You want me to go over the list again? Jasper, Judith, Nat, Astra, Gary…”

“But that’s not the whole list of people who’ve loved you,” Chas replied trying to dismantle John’s argument. All it did was keep twisting the knife in John’s heart.

“It’s also not the whole list of people who’ve died, Chas.”

Chas took a second as he went through the list in his head.

“It still doesn’t add up! You say that like everyone who loved you has died! What about Anne-Marie, Cheryl, Ritchie…”

Chas slowed as he noticed the look John was giving him, hands on his hips. It was that look telling him to go over that list again.

“You pushed them away on purpose…” he finally realized. “You hurt them, all so that they would keep their distance. Just like Anne-Marie said.”

“Well,” John interjected, “I’m sure it started out as your garden variety insecurities from me childhood, but the pattern became obvious pretty quick, and showed me that none of it was a fluke.”

“Then I’m the exception, right?” Chas had such hope in his eyes. John hated having to crush it.

“No, mate. You’re just too bloody loyal and caring to take the bait,” John said, unable to keep up the strong, arrogant façade anymore. “I’ve been crueler to you than anyone.”

Chas was dumbstruck. He tried to reconcile his memories with what John was saying, and it was written all over his face.

“I boss you around and force you to drive me everywhere. I crack jokes designed to push your buttons. I make unreasonable demands for meals, leave you to clean up after me, and openly take you for granted.” John found himself starting to break down, owning up to all that he’s done. It was easier _being_ a wanker than _admitting_ to it all out loud.

“That’s just being friends.” Chas blindly defended his sticking by John.

“I drag you into the depths of danger, show you shite that would make most people run away never to return.” Here he was, admitting to the worst things he’d only ever been accused of, but never acknowledged—not to others, and certainly not to himself.

“You needed help.” A bloody answer for everything, Chas had.

“I use you as a lab rat for my magic! I poke and prod and stab you, a smile on my face, knowing that you’ll just come back to life.”

“Well how else are you going to be able to test it?” As matter-of-fact as an answer could be.

“I put your life in situations so dangerous you die. You _die,_ Chas. Over and over again. Because of me.”

“Not my favourite thing, but thanks to you I come back, and I end up saving others.”

“I pulled you away from your family, from a normal life. I caused the break-up of your marriage, selfishly wanting you with me! Part of me always hoping you’d make the right choice and go home to be happy with them.”

“That was my choice, John.” Chas was firm in the way he took responsibility for his decisions.

“WOULD YOU STOP BEING SO BLOODY FORGIVING!”

“I can’t do that,” Chas replied, softly. John could tell he was coming closer. He felt the heat coming off of him as came right up and wrapped John in his arms. Hugging him closely, tightly, lovingly.

“Because I lo—”

“Don’t say it!” John screamed, pulling away from Chas and stepping away from the man. Anything to put that distance back between them.

“—ve you. I’ve always loved you.”

John felt the magic in the air. Not the sappy kind that was so gross in those romance pieces of drivel—if only. He could feel the crackle in the air of a seal that had been broken, despite his best efforts, and a pull at his chest like he’d been roped in, tethered to something he’d missed, longed to have back, for almost a decade.

“You don’t even bloody know, mate,” John said wistfully. He couldn’t look Chas in the face as he admitted this last one.

“It won’t matter, John,” Chas said warmly. He seemed to have come to terms with these feelings, confident in his words. “I’ll still be—”

“We’ve done this before,” he interrupted as Chas paused in his approach, noticeably confused. “We had this conversation before, Chas, and I still couldn’t push you away, so I had no choice but to fix it.”

“What?”

“D’you wanna know why I’m so certain I can’t cross that line?” John turned around to face him, the memories of that night flooding his mind. “Because I’ve crossed it once before, love, and had to take it back.”

“What do you mean,” Chas asked, carefully, “had to take it back? How did you _fix it_?”

“Right after Geraldine was born,” he recounted, wishing now he’d been able to put the same seal on himself as he’d put on Chas all those years ago.

John had returned to London, unable to watch his best mate be taken away from him. Selfish bastard that he was, he didn’t like to share. And the pain he felt whenever he thought about that time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of hours I have spent looking up Scouse dialect and slang is somewhat embarrassing...
> 
> I should note, the scene with Renee was what started this whole story.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“D’you wanna know why I’m so certain I can’t cross that line?” John turned around to face him, the memories of that night flooding his mind. “Because I’ve crossed it once before, love, and had to take it back.” ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there might be some smexy stuff in this chapter.  
> Just sayin'.
> 
> It might be why this chapter took so long... sorry.

_Eight years ago, London, England_

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Chas?” John was so shocked the cigarette fell from between his lips and into his lap. “Fuck fuck fuck!” John was jumping up and down trying to get rid of the burning tobacco and then stomped it out on the floor of the pub.

“I had to come find you,” Chas replied, taking a seat next to his friend at the bar. “I hadn’t heard from you in a year. You haven’t even come to visit and meet Geraldine.”

Chas pulls out his wallet and starts taking out the pictures he had. Yes, unsurprisingly, Chas was one of those kinds of fathers—doting from day one and ready to show anyone his precious girl. John knew he would be. It was part of the reason he left New York—couldn’t stomach it. He loved Chas, more than he’d loved anyone else. He was family, he was a brother, he was his best mate, full of loyalty, fealty, caring…

…and just naïve enough not to understand why John and Renee didn’t get along. That simplicity of Chas’s mind just added to his charm.

John had left because he wanted nothing more than to let Chas be happy. However, he knew himself well enough to know that his own selfish feelings would get in the way. The fiasco known as Chas and Renee’s wedding was proof enough of that.

But he’d never seen a smile on his best mate as bright as the one he sported when he shared the news that he was going to be a dad. That’s when John knew he should leave well enough alone. And the only way that was going to happen was to put an ocean between them.

Or so he’d thought.

“Oh yeah, adorable mate.” John did his best attempt at cooing, but babies really weren’t his thing. Nasty, messy, loud little creatures that had nothing to contribute to society.

“But you didn’t come all the way to London to show me snaps of the nipper,” John continued. There must have been more to this. “You wouldn’t leave your new little sprog and your lovely wife just to say hello.”

“No, I guess not,” Chas admitted, looking at the bar and starting to fiddle with a coaster. He looked up and around at that point, leaned in closer so no one else will hear. “It’s not really something I want to talk about here, though.”

“’K mate, no problem,” John downed the rest of his beer and signaled the barkeep with a £5 note, placed it on the bar as payment, and stood up, clapping Chas on the back. “Right then. Let’s grab some take away and head back to mine, yeah? Give us some privacy.”

John made sure to wink teasingly. He loved walking that line, flirting with the man he truly loved. Flirting, knowing how it would never amount to anything. And as expected, Chas rolled his eyes in response and smiled.

Once they’d finished their food and a few more drinks, Chas seemed ready to talk about whatever had brought him across the Atlantic.

“So, I really am here to bring you back to meet my daughter,” he started, and John could already hear the “but” coming.

“But, it’s because I’m scared for her, for all of us, as a family,” he finished. John wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“You’re perfectly safe, mate,” John replied flippantly, as though Chas’s fears were for naught. “Everybody’s scared when they first become a parent, yeah? You don’t need me for that.”

Chas’s expression read like a book, frustrated that John wasn’t taking this seriously.

“Magic, John. Runs in the family, remember?” Chas looked at him expectantly. He realized John was not getting it. “Have you honestly forgotten Queenie?” To this, John sat up straight.

Oh shite, he _had_ forgotten.

Queenie had been Chas’s poor excuse for a mother, and from a very long line of witches with very nasty magic. John having saved Chas from that situation was what bonded them as best mates in the first place.

“Oh bollocks,” he whispered, realizing that Chas’s fears weren’t your normal new-parent worries and anxieties—they were actual fear based on a past that still haunted him. John brought one hand to cover his mouth, thinking of the implications of that one statement.

“Everyone’s been asking me about my family now that we have Geraldine, about whether they’ll want to come meet her, what their background is… I can’t tell them Queenie was a literal witch who killed my father. That she preyed on the desperate and grieving to make a quick buck. I can’t tell anyone that my best friend killed her so that I didn’t have to live that life anymore.”

It wasn’t like Chas to talk about Queenie and his childhood. Neither of them did—it was too distressing. His breathing was becoming laboured just mentioning her. John hadn’t seen him this troubled in years. He came in close so he could place his hand on Chas’s shoulder for support, trying to stem the panic attack that seemed to be manifesting.

“It’s alright mate, she’s not here.” John used as soothing a voice as he could. _He_ was still affected by that horrible woman. Anytime he saw monkeys he was reminded of her filthy pet—a chimpanzee named Slag—that doubled as her magical familiar.

Most absurd creature John had ever seen in his life, and that was saying a lot. Slag wore a blonde wig and lipstick, a pink dress and jewelry. It was like it had stepped off the set of one of those TV shows from the seventies. On top of its appearance, the smell and sound that came from this ridiculous primate was so foul that it made others wretch.

Chas closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. He brought his hand up to cover John’s, drawing from that strength.

“I need to make sure, John,” Chas pleaded, opening his eyes again to look right at him. “You’re the only who can do anything, the only one who knows. I need to know that Geraldine isn’t going to end up like that. She’s the first girl since, and…” Chas started to choke on a sob, and John could see the fear in the tears forming and trickling down his cheeks. Chas didn’t know much about magic, but he knew how the bloodlines worked for the witches of his family and how it manifested only in the women.

“I’m so scared.” Chas closed his eyes again and started to sob openly, something that John had seen only once before. In that moment, his conviction solidified and he became determined to put these fears to rest. He would do anything for this man in front of him.

John took both hands and clasped them at the back of Chas’s neck, kissed Chas on the forehead and then rested his own where his lips had just been.

“I got you, mate,” John says reassuringly. He could feel a bit of the tension leave Chas’s body, a sense of relief washing over him. “I’ll come have a look at her, yeah? See if it’s something you even need to worry about. Might not be anythin’.”

Chas reached out and wrapped his arms around John in a tight embrace. The appreciation and gratitude flowed off him in waves and was so strong he could taste it. John reciprocated and ran his hands softly up and down his friend’s back, trying to keep him calm. He continued to whisper reassurances in Chas’s ear through the sobs, feeling the wetness on his shirt where Chas’s tears fell.

Once the air had changed, John realized just how intimate this was. All the feelings he’d been trying to keep at bay were suddenly very aware of how close those lips were—the ones he’d always wanted to taste. He ran his hands through Chas’s hair, keeping that calming air while secretly taking what he could in the moment. Feeling the heat of his friend’s body as he was pulled closer, John tightened his hold in response and breathed in deep, letting the familiar scent of Chas fill him, trying to imprint it upon his senses. His heart swelled as a deep breath was felt on his shoulder and the sobbing seemed to come to an end.

John prayed that the awakening lust in him was going unnoticed. He didn’t want to cheapen this moment, this rare instance of vulnerability for each of them, with his inability to keep his libido in check.

“I love you, John,” Chas whispered into John’s neck. It was so sweet, and yet hurt so much, knowing that it wasn’t the same kind of love that John felt, the longing he was doing his best to keep at bay.

At least, that’s what John thought, until he felt the lips on his neck linger, and then move upwards to his jaw.

John thought he was imagining it at first, so he didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either. Chas continued dragging his lips along the jawline, and finally placed a light kiss just behind John’s ear.

“I love you so much,” he whispered softly in John’s ear. “Please come back with me.”

John’s heart skipped a beat and his breath hitched. He brought his hands up to pull Chas’s face away from him, letting him get a good look. Chas was flushed, and though his eyes were still rimmed red from crying, they were half-lidded, filled with a trust he felt he didn’t deserve, a softness he wasn’t accustomed to.

“Say that again,” John whispered, trying to find something, anything, in this face before him that would betray a single doubt. Chas held John’s gaze and brought one of his hands up and into the blond hair, pulling on it lightly.

“I love you,” and with that Chas pressed his lips to John’s. It was soft and tender, not what John was used to at all. He closed his eyes and responded with equal tenderness. This was nothing like the dreams he’d had before about kissing this man. He’d always imagined a roughness, a hunger, hard and fast like that to which he was accustomed. But this—somehow this lighter touch, in this moment, was so much more intense than any touch, any kiss, he’d ever had before. John’s hands were barely touching the bearded cheeks so close, for fear that they would disappear—that pressing any harder would dispel this fragile moment.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, whether it was a few seconds or a few minutes, lips pressed together, hands holding each other in place in a way one could almost describe as chaste. Chas pulled away and pressed his forehead to John’s and moved to take the hands off his face, bringing them together and to his lips, gently pressing them together and kissing John’s fingers.

“Why are you shaking?” Chas asked, no more than a whisper, but crystal clear with their proximity. John hadn’t even realized his hands were trembling. In fact, his whole body was practically vibrating. John shrugged in response, unable to form words. Overwhelmed was too light a word for what he was feeling. He’d never felt loved before, with this kind of sincerity. It was a word he’d only ever heard or used in the throes of passion or to make excuses.

But now, it was like all the feelings he’d had for Chas were surfacing in a concentrated form—as though they’d been boiling for so long, now that they were released all that was left was a deep affection and love, thick and syrupy and clinging to him. And to know now, after all these years, that they were reciprocated, that he was loved in return? Had it been anyone else, had it unfolded in any other way, John would have been disgusted with his own reaction—falling apart in front of someone else, being vulnerable. No wonder it left him quaking.

“Are you cold?” Chas asked, and John shook his head. How could he possibly be cold when the warmth of Chas’s body was like a blanket?

“Are you scared?” John shrugged again, a little less obviously. Chas wrapped his arms around him, bringing him closer, letting the slighter man nuzzle into him. The move was comforting and John let out a breath onto Chas’s neck, hearing a breath hitch from the man cradling him in response.

“Are you scared of me?” John shook his head as best he could from the other man’s shoulder. He tried to form words in reply, but knew that as soon as he did, the sobs would push their way up and out. He wanted to keep them where they were, hold onto some dignity in this situation.

Instead, he tried to tell Chas by bringing his hand up the broad chest pressed against him, resting it on the sweater where Chas’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it. He felt more than heard the sigh that came in reply. They stayed like that for a bit, Chas running one hand up and down John’s back reassuringly.

“This is really weird,” Chas chuckled. “You not talking.” John shrugged yet again, too wrapped up in the aura of the room, the air between them. “It’s a nice change of pace.”

John smacked him lightly in the chest for the comment, causing Chas to laugh. It did the trick, though, and he finally felt a slight break in the tension plaguing his body as he managed a small smile.

“Well, don’t get used to it you wanker,” John managed to whisper, finding his voice again. “Just a bi-it overwhelmed.” He tried to hide the choking on his words, at the same time having grasped the futility.

“Can I take this to mean that you’ll come back to New York to stay?”

A different tension suddenly braced John’s entire body. No longer shaking, but instead rigid as the wooden floor beneath them, John’s fight or flight instincts finally kicked back in. His mind started racing with the implications of what was being offered, what it would mean to act on this new-found connection—a connection now scaring the ever-loving shit out of him.

John pushed his way out of Chas’ hold, unable to look him in the eye. “You know I can’t do that, mate.” The face that met his gaze as he brought it up was so full of confusion it made John grimace. “I’ll come and see Geraldine, put your mind to rest, but I can’t stay.”

“But—wha—th-that can’t have just been me, John,” Chas stuttered out. “I mean, I felt it! I could taste it! You love me too—”

“Never said that, did I?” John interrupted coldly—a statement as opposed to a question. He stood up, the closeness no longer comforting, and instead suffocating. He pulled his tie off and undid a few buttons of his shirt, trying to get the choking feeling to ease. His head was pounding with the endorphins starting to wear off. It was like coming down from an awesome high, and the crash was coming fast. The extremes fighting each other in his heart, he had to work extra hard to come out of this on the right side—the one where Chas went home, lived a happy life, and John stayed here, keeping evil at bay.

He could feel the eyes on him, and chanced a peek. In that split second, he saw the hurt so clearly he had to look away. He was back in his own head now, practised at being an asshole. He heard the boards in the flat creak as Chas stood up.

“Don’t do this,” Chas pleaded. John realized the mistake he’d made, allowing Chas to get a glimpse of his weakness—or more that he _was_ John’s weakness. Maybe he could still play this off, be the heartless, cold bastard he always fronted.

“Don’ do what?”

“Play this game!” he exclaimed. “You think I don’t know? That you care about people? That you hate being the selfish one, but that most of the time it’s the only choice you have? That as much as it looks like you’re the only one who gains, you’re the one who ends up sacrificing more than anyone else? And that you’ll always try to give yourself before others, only to have it thrown back in your face as a form of torture?”

“What the hell, mate? What’s with the psycho-babble and making me sound like some kind of righteous prick? I look out for meself, and I’m no martyr,” John defended, unable to decide if he should be laughing or outraged. “You’re being bloody delusional.”

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” Chas offered, softening his tone. “Why won’t you let me in?”

“You don’t want in, mate,” John shook his head, feeling that vulnerability creep back up. He made a mental note to try and tie that shit down at some point.

“How could you possible know that?” Chas approached gingerly.

“Because I don’t even want in here sometimes, so why would anyone else want to bother? In here,” he emphasized his point by jabbing himself in the chest, “there is nothing but pain and guilt and danger. There is nothing worth subjecting others to.”

“John—”

“I leave destruction and death in my wake! I subject those closest to me to torture and damnation! People I care for leave and die! Why the fuck would anyone want that?”

“Because I need John Constantine in my life,” Chas smiled.

“No one needs that, mate, least of all you,” John chided.

“Why least of all me?” Chas frowned, obviously not liking the tone.

“You’re married you daft git! You have a lovely, gorgeous wife who loves you, and you love her! You have a beautiful new daughter, waiting for you to come home! You have the life and the family you’ve always wanted.”

“It’s not what I want if you’re not in it!” The look of desperation on Chas’s face showed how badly he wanted this, how he had been holding back. “And I know you _want_ to be in it, too.”

John still refused to look his friend in the face. Chas was pushing all the wrong buttons, bursting his way through doors John had thought he’d locked. As he saw the feet approach, he turned his back, hiding the truth he could feel on his face, trickling down his cheeks.

“And how do you know that, mate?” he deadpanned, trying to hide the snivelling he felt running from his nose.

“Because in all your arguments, you haven’t once said that you don’t.”

Bollocks… he had hoped that had been harder to figure out. Chas’s arms came around John from behind and he brought his face down to bury into his neck. It felt like solace and burning at the same time—like pain and pleasure and relief mixed together, fighting for supremacy. What they all had in common was the need for release, so together they pushed the sobs up and had them erupt from John’s throat. Chas tightened his hold, bringing his mouth to John’s ear.

“You keep saying you can’t, that I don’t, I shouldn’t, that no one should, but you haven’t said that you don’t want this,” Chas whispered, breaking down John’s arguments. “If you want me to leave this alone, you’re going to have to look at me and say that you don’t want it.”

John shut his eyes, trying to get the tears to stop and bring air back into his lungs. He pulled himself forward, out of Chas’s hold and slowly turned around, looking the other man straight on. He opened his mouth to say what needed to be said, and nothing came out. He saw the emotion in Chas’s eyes, a look he’d dreamt of seeing, of having it directed at him and not another. He tried to speak again, and couldn’t. He looked down, unable to do as asked. He let loose a chuckle of resignation, realizing there was only one answer:

Sod it.

“How the bloody hell am I supposed to convince you that I don’t want this, when I ’aven’t been able to convince myself for the past ten years?”

John wrapped his arms possessively around Chas’s neck and pulled him down into a fiery open-mouthed kiss answering every question that had hung between them. The response came within the second, Chas kissing back feverishly, his hands returning around the slighter man’s waist. Tongues sliding against each other, hands travelling to feel whatever they could of the other.

John was a bit more adept at this kind of thing, so while Chas was trying to undo the buttons on John’s shirt, he went straight for Chas’s belt. With surprising speed and finesse John had the other’s trousers open and his hand snaking down to take hold of…

“Oh shit…” Although they both said it at the same time, it was certainly for different reasons. Chas’s eyes were closed, and John could see the effect the touch of his fingers on the taught skin of Chas’s cock was having on the man in front of him.

“I knew you were a big boy,” John teased, a grin gracing his lips, “But this… even I’m impressed, mate.”

“Shut up.” Chas brought their mouths together again, as though wanting— _needing_ —to keep kissing John. As he felt himself being distracted, Chas did his best to take care of the rest of their clothes. John helped a bit, feeling the urgency humming through the both of them.

Once they were naked, John backed Chas up until his knees hit the front of the couch, causing him to lose his balance and fall back into a seated position. They both did their best not to break the kiss in the debacle, leading John to straddle Chas, their erections trapped together between their bodies. John shifted his hips up and down, getting that glorious friction as their cocks slid against each other.

Both men groaned heatedly at the sensation, laden with a lust they had held back for so long. As John was running his fingers through Chas’s shaggy hair and still kissing him senseless, Chas took one of his large hands and reached down to take both their cocks and experimentally stroke up slowly, then back down. The sensation was so intense John had to pull away from Chas’s lips to start gasping against his mouth. He pulled harder on Chas’s hair, earning him a full on moan. John took Chas’s free hand and tried guiding it behind him, telling his friend what he wanted, leading it to his arse, helping him to grasp at a cheek. Chas got the hint and grabbed it firmly before trailing his fingers to the base of John’s spine, then following it down to slip between both cheeks.

“Oh fuck,” John moaned out loud. Chas was so concentrated on John’s arse, his stroking had faltered. John took this opportunity, while he knew he could still form words, to drag his lips wetly along Chas’s jaw to his ear, and whispered huskily, “I want you to fuck me, Chas.”

He felt the response right away—the sharp intake of breath, a sudden heat emitting from Chas’s skin, and his erection twitching between them. John used his hips to grind his cock alongside Chas’s, rubbing against their stomachs, leaving a wet trail of pre-cum as evidence of his arousal. He then tried to push back against Chas’s hand, trying to urge him into action.

The smell of sweat and musk filled his lungs, the salty taste of Chas’s skin danced on his tongue, and the sound of Chas panting and grunting was music to his ears. John felt saturated by the man, and knew he could get addicted to this sensation.

“Do you have any…uh…?” Chas tried to ask, ever the pragmatist.

John made a show of getting up slowly, letting his cock drag up Chas’s chest.

He strutted over to a drawer and pulled out a bottle and a condom. As he sauntered back, he pushed Chas down along the couch so that he was lying down, John now crawling over him. Chas’s eyes never left John’s face, the passion and love so evident in his features John wondered if he’d ever be able to look at him again without remember it—so intense that John’s instincts tried to kick in again. Chas must have seen it, because he reached up and ran a hand through John’s hair, while his other hand took a firm hold of John’s hip, keeping him from running.

“I’m not going to let you go anywhere,” he said softly, but thick with intent. The dominion behind the words was enough for John to feel them like a command, like Chas had taken the option away from him, and he somehow found it liberating. The juxtaposition of the gentle hand soothingly running through his hair and the firm grip that anchored him, just hard enough to be almost painful, satisfied both of John’s needs. He’d always had to choose between one and the other, and if he got whichever one he wasn’t in the mood for, he was gone.

But Chas seemed to know this inherently about John. Just as John knew that this was satisfying both Chas’s need to comfort others and his need for control. Both men trying to wrestle with their childhoods, neither one in a very healthy way. Both of them easing again into the moment.

John took the opportunity to kiss him again, all tongue and teeth, raunchy but quick, confirming to Chas that he wasn’t going anywhere. John kissed Chas’s chin and slowly worked his way down, flitting between kissing and biting. As he continued, Chas’s hand stayed in John’s hair, his fingers massaging the contours of John’s scalp.

As John reached the treasure trail, he took one hand and started stroking Chas’s hardness again—slowly, like he was taking in the topography of it. Finally at his destination, John held the base of Chas’s impressive cock and swirled his tongue around the head before moving to lick up the underside. He started pumping with his hand as his lips pressed to the tip, then slowly slid down, engulfing as much of Chas’s erection as he could get in his mouth.

The sounds Chas made were music to John’s ears and only encouraged him to continue. He bobbed his head up and down, taking more of him down with each pass, trying to use whatever tricks he could think of. Chas’s hand no longer threaded through John’s hair, but instead was clenching the blond strands, and John could tell he was trying not to pull too hard. He used his hand to pump the shaft while swirling his tongue around the tip and sucking. John the pulled off to look back at the face of the man beneath him.

Chas’s eyes were half-lidded at best and he was panting harshly.

“Like that, do ya?” John teased, smirk on his lips. Chas’s grip lessened in John’s hair and instead he brought that broad hand around to cup his cheek, let his thumb gently stroke his face. John leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth.

“Almost too much,” Chas breathed out, panting heavily and barely able to speak, apparently. “I might not…last if you…keep going…”

The roguish grin he was famous for graced John’s lips, proud that he could bring this man beneath him to that point.

“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?” John teased, taking his hand from Chas’s cock and instead reaching for the lube. He shifted himself forward, up Chas’s body, and then kissed him soundly. Chas could do nothing but follow where John led at this point. It was a good thing John knew what he was doing…at least physically, though maybe not in any other way.

As John started to prepare himself, he kept Chas distracted with the kissing that became more heated and passionate as it continued. John felt Chas’s hands as they carded through his hair, tugging lightly, because of course Chas was being gentle. And for all that John was more for the tighter grips and the sharper nips with the teeth, this was proving more intense, if less stimulating.

John started whining and chirping—for lack of a better way to describe it—into Chas’s mouth, the man beneath him tensed and removed his hands. He pulled back as best he could with his head pressed into the couch, and John was forced to open his eyes, if only slightly, to see what the problem was.

“Did I pull too hard?” Chas asked, clearly thinking he had hurt John with that pathetic attempt at pulling hair. John had to pause a moment in disbelief at the trepidation demonstrated by this giant of a man who could break bones. He stuttered before a guffaw left him and he had to rest his head on Chas’s shoulder as he laughed.

“No, love,” John said lovingly. He gently pressed a kiss to Chas’s shoulder, his collarbone, and trailed his lips up his neck. He kissed Chas’s chin and then looked into those hazel eyes filled with uncertainty, but he met them with a smile. John brought his free hand to Chas’s cheek and then closed his eyes as he moaned openly into the other’s mouth before he continued. “Just getting’ meself ready for ya.”

It seemed to take Chas a moment or two to go from confused to a surprised look of understanding. John tried to smile as he nodded, but he was up to two fingers at this point and was somewhat distracted.

“Oh,” Chas replied, relief written in his features, but something underneath it made John think a moment. But no…there was no way…

“You’ve done this before, yeah?” John asked softly, trying to come across as anything but judgemental. It’s not like everyone was into that, especially if you’ve never been with another bloke before. Chas’s sudden inability to look John in the eye was answer enough. He could feel Chas start to tense up again, the worry clear. With that, the hand on Chas’s cheek started to card through his hair softly, around to the back of his neck, and John brought their foreheads together.

“I just…” Chas started, and then held his breath.

“Shhh,” John cooed. “No judgement here, mate. Just means I get to show you how it’s done.” He winced as his fingers were removed to come up to take Chas’s hand, and bring it down to join John’s in the preparation.

Chas looked at John then, and as he was guided into the man atop him, the look changed. As John groaned at the new intrusion, it softened, while intensifying the love that now glistened in his eyes. The concern left as he held John’s gaze, replaced by confidence and lust with each gentle thrust of his fingers.

John didn’t know what to do with that. It was too soft, too tender. The smirk dropped and he could feel the change on his face. He was usually much better at hiding how he felt, hiding his fears and trepidations. Instead, he used the feeling of opening up to distract himself. Like his cock, Chas’s fingers were easily underestimated.

“Fuuuck,” John breathed out, closing his eyes at the sizable intrusion, knowing that this was just the beginning. Large hands meant long, thick fingers. John could tell the man’s confidence was growing, his movements more purposeful, more exploratory. Suddenly, John jerked up and saw white for a split second, trying to stop himself from crying out, instead biting his lip.

“So that’s where it is,” Chas said smugly, then brushing his finger over that spot again.

“Oi! Stop that!” John cried while gasping for breath. “I don’ want t’come until you’re in me.”

That got Chas’s attention. He stopped moving his fingers, not sure what to do next. John, as usual, took control of the situation, and guided Chas out, gasping at the new loss. He grabbed the condom, handing it to Chas so the man could roll it on. John then took the lube again, a fair amount this time, and started stroking Chas’s cock again. The man beneath him moaned at the renewed attention, closing his eyes at the sensation. Chas’s eyes opened again once John stopped, just in time to watch as John lifted himself up on his knees and slowly, very slowly, guided Chas in.

“You okay?” Chas asked, probably because John had paused and was taking deep breaths. Probably also in response to John’s erection starting to soften from the discomfort.

“I’m good,” he replied through gritted teeth and then continued to lower himself. Chas started rubbing circles on John’s hip, a caring gesture of support, he supposed. Didn’t really do much for him, honestly.

As John settled, Chas fully seated inside him, he felt the warm hand he knew so well glide slowly up his chest, resting with the palm flat over John’s heart. John responded by taking his own hand and laying it over top over Chas’s, lacing their fingers together, tightening his grip as he started to rise up and feel Chas’s cock slide out of him. He took it slow, still adjusting to the size, closing his eyes and breathing. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the discomfort left and he’d be left feeling filled with ecstasy. Chas reached for John’s other hand and John gave it willingly. Both hands held tightly, providing support both physically and emotionally.

John started lowering himself again, and already he knew that nothing else would ever feel like this. He was already getting hard again. This was more than just fucking. He knew it. He didn’t want to think of what that meant, but he still knew it. It was nothing like what he’d dreamt before. It was slow, full of tenderness.

He sped up a little at a time, and Chas started groaning in pleasure. There were no more words to be said. No more jokes, no more hesitations.

There was this, and only this. Moving together, Chas’s hips starting to roll and meet John part way, his hands letting go of John’s and grabbing at the hips that kept rising and lowering faster. Suddenly, John was jostled slightly, a bit confused until he felt Chas’s thighs against his tailbone and understood—Chas had brought up his knees, placing both feet flat on the sofa.

The next time Chas snapped his hips, John cried out, the new angle allowing Chas to hit his prostate again. Each thrust up was harder, hitting that spot over and over.

John couldn’t think anymore. He could barely keep himself up, basically being bucked by Chas at this point. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and took himself in hand. Not even a second passed before Chas’s hand joined his, stroking him to completion, streaking Chas’s chest.

Chas’s thrusts lost their rhythm as John clenched around the cock inside him, triggering Chas’s own orgasm.

They both just stayed like that, connected, panting, endorphins starting to come down.

John looked down at Chas and found the other already—or still, he wasn’t sure—looking at him, smiling. John could tell he was wearing a similar look. Chas reached up and cupped John’s faced on one side. Feeling the heat coming from him, John nuzzled into the hand before it slid to the back of his neck and then pulled John down into a searing kiss. As John pressed himself into Chas, he could feel the cooling wetness on Chas’s chest. He pulled away from the kiss and gently pulled himself off of Chas’s softening cock, wincing a little at the feeling.

“You alright?” Chas asked, having obviously noticed. He petted John’s face affectionately, and not looking nearly as worried as he had earlier. This was more…comfortable.

“So much better than alright, mate,” John answer, the smile on his face somehow growing. “Just gonna go grab us somethin’ to wash up with, yeah?”

John extricated himself from Chas’s arms and lifted himself to a standing position as gracefully as a newborn giraffe. He could still feel where Chas had been, and could tell he’d be feeling it for a few days at least.

“You sure you’re okay?” Chas repeated, a smirk on his face, apparently noting John’s gait as he walked—limped might be a better word—to the bathroom. John turned around, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Like I said, mate,” he shifted his gaze to Chas’s cock and licked his bottom lip, “Impressive.”

Chas’s laughter was full of mirth. A wonderful laugh that John had missed hearing. He returned to his task at hand, disposed of the condom and dampened a rag before sauntering back into the main room.

“You look like you should be at a rodeo,” Chas giggled, clearly enjoying himself still. John threw the rag at him playfully, as Chas sat up and caught it.

“Well, it sure feels like I just rode a bloody horse,” John quipped back, seating himself gingerly next to Chas as the other man wiped his chest with the cloth.

“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment or a complaint.” Chas looked over at him, eyebrow raised but a smile still on his face. John smiled goofily.

“No complaints here, mate,” he said confidently, running his hands down his chest, stretching. He saw the look on Chas’s face change, brow furrow, lips tighten. A bit unsure of where this was going, John teased the other a little. “Were you hoping it was a complaint?”

“No!” Chas caught himself, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I just…” He paused uncomfortably, looking as though he was struggling with his words.

John’s brain started racing with his heart giving chase, each one trying to go faster than the other. The panicked feeling that this was where Chas regretted, where he claimed it was a mistake, where he…

“This is usually where I wake up,” Chas said honestly. He looked over at John, and then down at his hands, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

It was the equivalent of a pistol firing, indicating a false start. Both his mind and heartrate slowed rapidly, feeling the crisis averted. John took his hand and placed it confidently on Chas’s thigh, and it was soon covered by Chas’s warmth, his own hand falling atop John’s.

“No waking up required, love,” John said, before pinching the skin beneath his hand, and giggling at Chas’s reaction.

“Ow! Did you just pinch me?” Chas's whole body jerked at the action, a look of shock on his face.

“Wanted to prove you weren’t dreaming.” John laughed heartily.

“Right, okay then” he rebutted, before twisting to face John so he could pinch the other man’s side.

“Oi! Stop that!” John tried slapping Chas’s hand away and at the same time went to poke Chas’s side

As they both playfully pinched and poked, tweaked and pulled, laughing all the while like boys wrestling for fun, John found himself pinned beneath the larger man, both of them breathing heavily, and all John wanted to do was kiss the lips above him. The moment he realized he there was nothing to stop him this time, he craned his neck upward and captured Chas’s lips with his own.

“So, not dreaming this time,” Chas said softly, looking at John lovingly once they’d pulled away.

“Nope,” John replied, emphasizing the “p” with a pop. “That is really my cock poking you in the gut.” He put on his most devilish grin and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“How are you already…” Chas started asking. John had to laugh, feeling the other man’s erection rubbing against his thigh.

“Look who’s talking, mate.” John shifted his leg to rub against Chas, proving his point. The man above him groaned and closed his eyes in response to the stimulation. John took the opportunity to start nibbling and sucking at Chas’s neck.

“Please tell me you have more condoms,” Chas intoned, breathy and needy. John licked his way up to the other man’s ear, bit down on the lobe before whispering seductively,

“You know where they are. How ‘bout you grab the box.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is my first time writing a gay sex scene, so I hope it worked.
> 
> One more chapter to go!
> 
> BTW... big thanks to misslucyjane for the awesome advice. <3  
> If you're not already reading her Sinnerman series, DO IT!!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic, like ever, and it turned out WAY longer than I thought.  
> Title was originally going to be "I would die for you", based on the song by Jann Arden, but that didn't make any sense with the story.  
> I hope you enjoy. :)


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